A Nightclub Flower
by Myranda Wright Sarah Spinelli
Summary: 17-year-old pyrotelepath Nat Fairbanks is trapped between the Brotherhood and X-Men, Pietro and Kurt. This story remains in progress! Newest, in Chapter 51: an uneasy alliance is formed between Quicksilver and Nightcrawler in the wake of the FOH attack.
1. With Dragons and a Chariot

**Title: **A Nightclub Flower

**Author: **Sarah Spinelli AKA PyroPixxy AKA Myranda Wright

**Disclaimer:** Me no own X-Men. Stan Lee God. (Most of the characters used herein are the property of Marvel Comics. No money is being made by me through from this dinky little fic.)

**Timeline/AU note:** This fic takes place approximately two years after the "Evolution" series began in an alternate universe, basically comprised of characters from first season only.

**Author's notes: **For those of you who recognize this fic, you will probably remember that it was first published through chapter 49 shortly following the first season of X-Men: Evo. I have made a few changes to the old chapters since then, basically just cleaning things up here and there (I did not change the story itself, only some of the actual text). I have also reinitiated the process of story-telling, and I'm coming back (slowly but surely) to the fanfic community. I was spurred on after completing my first semester of college, reading Kaylee's mooky story "Any Kinda Breath" which has finally been finished after two years of prayer and hand-wringing, and after learning about fellow-author Dannell Lites' untimely death. If you'd like to flame me or you have a question, please drop me a line. Oh, and don't ask _me_ why fanfiction.net always f***s up my formatting and staggers stuff that's supposed to be centered. ^_~ Anyway, enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!

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"She leapt up from the chair, and all on fire she ran,

Shaking her hair now this way and now that, trying

To hurl the diadem away; but fixedly

The gold preserved its grip, and, when she shook her hair,

Then more and twice as fiercely the fire blazed out."

-_Euripides, fifth century BC_

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**Chapter One: With Dragons and a Chariot**

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The wailing of sirens announced trouble's arrival long before the engines came whipping around the darkened corner. Far down the street, a porch light flickered on and curtains rustled to life as the groundskeeper's children pressed their noses to the glass, which glowed red and orange in the night. The air was thick and hot with ash while bright cinder-flecks spiraled up into the darkness and disappeared. The scent of burning evergreens wafted heavily across the lawns, and the sound of heated mortar cracking seemed to echo loudly.

In a jumble of tangled equipment and shouting voices, men clad in heavy yellow and reflective gray leapt from the engines and poured across the landscaping toward the buildings. The blaze was reflected in their bulky, bug-like helmets like some sick mirror. Most made their way to the old school and the outcroppings of outer classrooms, storage sheds and ancient dormitories, unwinding and training their hoses on the flames, while the rest took to hustling the two hundred or so sobbing teenaged girls away from the chaotic mess. Soot stained bed linens and dirty bare feet trembled at the edge of the property.

A second ball of flame erupted toward the rear of the building, now little more than a sagging heap of charred brick and crumbling beams, and roared out across the garden to lick at the rapidly blackening leaves of dead chrysanthemums and hydrangea. Grass curled and died at its passing. The sound of swinging axes and bellowing voices was lost behind a wall of fire that towered ever upward. Ambulances arrived and paramedics shot out of the backs in starched white shirts, unloading the gurneys and rushing in to help.

Natalie Fairbanks stood back with the other girls at the edge of the street, watching the scene unfurl. Well, not quite "with" the other girls. While the others huddled together in murmuring clumps, wrapped in sooty blankets and clutching one another's hands, Nat was off to the side, still dressed in jeans and a sweat-streaked tank top. The last of the flames glowed on her pupils as the firefighters raced this way and that with their snake-like hoses. She wrung her hands and tried valiantly to keep from to swallow her tongue. Her knees rattled painfully.

Nearby, the others were talking amongst themselves, none offering to include her in their hushed conversations. Not that she wasn't used to it. Socialization wasn't one of her most highly acclaimed talents. Most chattered softly about the fire: how hot it was even this far back, whether or not there were any parts of the school left untouched, how much it would cost to replace the rooms of books and computer equipment that any good school had. It was Lily's voice that caught Nat's attention, like a fishing hook around her earlobe.

"I wonder if they have a suspect yet."

The others around her hushed at the words, not sure how to react. Morgan, standing nearest to Nat, took a step closer to the girls, and twisted a strand of hay-colored hair around her little finger. Her thin pink lips pursed, drawing together in a little knot, and her brows arched downward.

"Don't be an idiot, Lily. They don't have _suspects_ for accidents. Somebody out at the sheds probably left the lid off of some paint or something. That's _all_."

Lily leaned a little toward Nat, pretending to be scuffing her slipper against the curb. "Please! Do you think a little paint could do all _that_? That'd have to be some bloody strong fumes." She indicated the collapsing building with a jerk of her freckled chin. She said loudly, carefully enunciating, "It was on _purpose_. And I'd bet just about anything that the person who did it will be caught by morning. After all, anyone having anything to do with something like _this_ ought to be locked up with all the other freaks and psychos."

Nat's face began to burn lightly, from within rather than without. Real fire never burned like that. She tried to slink toward a block of trees at the edge of the property, but Lily's shrill voice stopped her dead.

"Hey, why are you dressed like that, Fairbanks? Isn't it a little late to be out cruising for girlfriends?" She smiled widely and stood with arms akimbo, tossing her thick braid over her shoulder, somehow looking threatening even though she was dressed in blackened lavender pajamas and a sooty kimono robe. "Just _what_ will your daddy say?"

Nat's world fell silent. The ambulances melted away, the fire were snuffed, the last of the shouting voices were muffled into oblivion. Silence roared in Nat's ears. Her fingers began to twitch and she felt her legs go leaden. She dug her heels firmly into the soil to keep herself from teetering.

"Oh, that's right! Natty, I'd forgotten. Didn't your daddy die in a fire? Quite sorry. My mistake, really," Lily sneered, folding her narrow arms across her chest.

Morgan tugged on Lily's wrist and whispered something that Nat couldn't hear, but Lily pushed her backward. Morgan stumbled backward against a juniper bush and nearly fell as the narrow, gnarled branches attached to her pajama pants, regaining her footing and standing with her feet in a heap of fertilizer. Her cheeks blushed and she fell silent, embarrassed. Nearly a dozen girls had made it over to the trees and were listening to Lily's rants, curiously following the sound of the girl's shrilling.

"You know as well as I do that little Freaky Fairbanks is behind all this," Lily bit off in Morgan's direction. She turned her gaze to the growing crowd and lifted an eyebrow in defiance. "And if you're going to just stand here sniveling and not do anything about it, well then you're all worthless bits of rubbish like _her."_

Everything seemed to drop away. It was just Nat and Lily now, together on an island in the middle of the ocean, with the rest of the girls backing slowly off. A few, Lily's faithful, began circling hesitantly, resembling nothing more than a group of sharks.

"You've got proof that I did a thing wrong," Nat whispered, trying her hardest to keep the conversation discreetly hushed to avoid the curious glances from the occasional passing fireman. Lily took no such precautions, and held her chin up high when she spoke, projecting her voice out over Nat's head like a hawker or a carnival caller.

"Maybe I do," she said with a shrug. Leaning in, she lowered her voice so only Nat could hear her. "I know you did _something_, freak, and I'll prove it. Who will they believe: the withdrawn little reject or the daughter of the headmistress?"

Nat pressed in until she was mere inches from Lily's thin frame. Her cheeks burned hotter. "If you'd had proof you'd have raced to your mum and chattered off every word already."

Lily smiled slightly, looking nervous in a way that made Nat almost happy. Lily's voice dropped to a sub-whisper. "No one will be able to prove that you _didn't_ do this. I know about the matches under your pillow." Her smile lost its fear. Nat gulped.

"You know damned well that a pack of matches couldn't have done a thing like this. Besides, plenty of people have matchbooks."

"Who's to say you didn't have more? Come to think of it—" she grew louder again and backed away from Nat, glancing around at the eyes of the other girls "—I'm pretty sure I remember seeing you with that missing can of paint thinner that the painters lost last month."

Morgan's eyes ballooned to the size of saucers. "Oh, my gosh…"

"That was _my_ paint thinner, and I used it to work on that model I made for earth sciences class! You were _in that group, you little sneak!"_

"And I just wish that I'd said something when I saw you outside smoking a few hours ago. It's against the rules here, you know."

"Knock it _off!"_

Lily stepped aside, hands clasped at the small of her back, looking terribly upset. "You seem to be around all kinds of accidents, don't you Natty? And you don't have any problem breaking the rules. Oh, if only you'd been caught for that, so no one would have gotten hurt!"

It happened in seconds. An almost deafening upsurge of voices, shouting and screeching, most of them at Nat, rose from the small crowd of girls at the edge of the road. It wasn't enough proof, she knew, but fear and Lily's convincingly haranguing tongue had spurred them on. Nat's eyes were filled with tears that she held back along with the lump in her throat. The raging fire in her cheeks intensified, and her fingers tingled, the muscles in her forearms aching with the effort to keep her stinging fists from lashing out. Everything seemed to glow crimson and gold with a heat building between the two girls. Rage and teasing combined to ignite, shimmering with heat in the air.

Lily reached for Nat's shoulder. Nat tried to step away as the heat continued to grow, terrified now at what she knew was about to happen, but Lily's grip was deceptively strong. She leaned forward and said, in a mournful tone, "But I was too late. Now people have gotten hurt. I should have told. I just didn't want to get you into any trouble. I've tried so hard to be friends with you, after all."

"You're a filthy liar, Lily Stewart!"

There was a scream, a sharp, trilling, penetrating cry that rocked Lily's body as she fell to her knees, clutching her bloody face. Her scream faded into tremulous moans and she lurched forward onto the charred grass. Flames curled up around the breast of her nightshirt until it was smothered by the weight of her body. The tail of her kimono licked in the breeze.

Morgan was white with terror, and hardly seemed to notice when the other girls turned and ran. Her frightened black eyes turned on Nat, her lips trembling as her teeth gnashed over them in terror, bringing a narrow stream of blood to the surface. She raised a finger shakily and pointed it straight at Nat's chest.

"It _was_ you. It was!"

"Morgan, please…"

"Oh, you'd better run, mutie, or you're going to die tonight!"

Nat didn't have to be told twice. With her boots snagging on plants and tangles of root, she turned on her heel and took off into the trees. Her breath seared her lungs and a scream fought to be released, coming out as a strangled groan. Tears streamed down her cheeks and branches snagged her clothes and lashed her skin. Behind her, she could hear Lily's sobs, gradually fading out.

"Oh, somebody please, get my mummy! Please, get her, I need her…"

* The title refers to hanging on to something important to you, despite what the truth about it might be. (Jean Anouilh)


	2. In Flight

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**Chapter Two: In Flight**

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Nat stopped at the edge of the highway, choking for breath. The tears had dried on her cheeks, but her throat still felt thick and used. She inhaled the damp forest air and tried desperately to think, pressing her fingers to her temples: she had to have a plan. It wouldn't work to simply take off into a random direction and hope for the best. Lowering her hands slowly, she plunged them into her pockets to stifle the tingle that was emerging again.

_Fight it_, she ordered herself. _Fight it, you useless little git!_

Her fingers brushed over the slip of paper in her pocket. Her skeleton started to vibrate slowly and turned into a full-fledged convulsion of fear, and she stepped onto the edge of the narrow paved road to avoid tripping on clumps of earth as she shook. The urge to plunge into the darkness of the forest and never emerge was almost undeniable, and she fought the need to vomit.

Several meters up the road, a large red car took the turn on squealing tires and came suddenly into view, speeding toward Nat. The headlights were two yellow orbs glowing like giant, demonic eyes, looking all the more terrifying in her current state of self-effacing confusion. With a little gasp, she leapt into the bushes by the roadside as the car whipped past, two teenaged boys inside laughing loudly and hooting vulgar comments out the window. She felt thorns bite her skin and twist in her hair, and winced at her unbelievable run of bad luck. When the car continued on without stopping to question her, she let out the breath she'd been holding and delicately untangled herself from the brambles. Her bare shoulder had begun to bleed and she shivered slightly.

The night wore on that way for another two hours, when the first hints of orange and yellow began to creep up over the treetops in fingers of warm sunrise. It was going to be a clear day, and the lack of clouds made it brisk before the sun had been given a chance to warm up the world. Nat was lost in a shiver that was only partly from the cold and wrapped her arms around herself, but didn't put her hands back into her pockets to warm them.

It was still very early when she reached the first sign of civilization, a sad little motor stop that advertised cold Coca Cola and cigarettes on faded signs. At first she thought it was closed, but as she neared she saw a young man in a baseball cap sweeping the front step, stopping from time to time to send a tepid stream of reddish saliva and chewing tobacco into the ashtray beside the door. She started to walk faster, carefully averting her gaze, but the promise of something cold to drink and a bit of food to ease her aching stomach drew her nearer. Coins jangled in her back pocket, and her mind was made up.

The man, really a boy of no more than fifteen, smiled at her and tipped the bill of his hat as she entered the store. She nodded stiffly, hastily wiping the backs of her sooty hands on the butt of her jeans as she suddenly realized just how haggard she had begun to lookk. Bells tinkled on the door handle, and she smiled nervously at the middle-aged man behind the counter, who beamed at her from underneath a massive mustache like hairy gray arms sprouting from his upper lip. His hands rested lightly on a portly belly and he slurped black coffee from a large paper cup. By the way everyone was acting, she guessed that news of the fire hadn't yet made it this far up the road.

Her hands had continued to tremble, so she stuffed them into her pockets, remembering the newspaper clipping stashed there, and disgustedly pushed it out of the way with her thumb.

She cleared her throat and glanced at the man through a lowered gaze, avoiding eye contact and the potential for recognition. "H-have you got anything to drink?"

Nat was surprised at how steady her voice was, and she almost jumped at the unintentional loudness. The man chuckled.

"'Course I do. What can I do fer yeh? Got yer soda, water, juice, milk, tea. An' there's crackers and crisps on that stand by the door if yeh need summat to eat." He paused, looking her over slightly. Her consternation virtually radiated off of her in waves. He smiled, trying to lighten her expression. "If yeh'd wait a minute or two I could fix yeh a sandwich."

Taken aback, Nat stared at him. The urge to flee was quickly overcome by a growling in her stomach, and she nodded slightly.

"That'd be…really nice. Thank you."

She stood nervously in the doorway as the man disappeared into the back. There was a rustling of packages being opened and a clatter of knives and mayonnaise jars, and he reappeared carrying a small paper bag. He handed it to her over the counter and she traded him a small pile of coins and crumpled, small denomination bills.

"It's all that I have. I could…finish sweeping the steps or something, if you'd like."

His smile was smooth and grandfatherly under his mustache, large yellow teeth peeking out between the fuzzy lips. "Don' worry. Yeh sorta look to be in a bit of a rush. Grab yerself a drink, too. There's a couple Wet Naps in there so you kin wash yerself up. Yeh really shouldn't go campin' unprepared next time, young lady."

Just as she turned to leave, she felt a gaze on her back and turned. He looked indecisive for a moment, glancing uncomfortably at his watch and at his shoes. Rubbing awkwardly at his beard, he added in a hushed voice, "Be watchin' out for people on that road. They usually don't keep much of an eye out 'long this stretch, or me boy wouldn't be comfor'ble workin' out in the open like 'e is, bein' pretty, uh, shy. But lately people been a little jumpy, so watch yerself. It's been awful _hot_ round here, after all."

"Um…thanks," Nat whispered, a waver in her tone. She was feeling guilty, confused and supremely grateful. Nodding slowly, the lump in her throat again threatening to overcome her, she forced out a choked laugh. As she slipped silently out the door her tears had already started falling again, and the boy with the broom stared at her in puzzlement and intense interest. She moved past him quickly, averting her eyes.

"Wai—wait a secon'."

She paused, the paper sack crinkling as her hands curled tightly around it. A long, drawn out silence stretched between them, the frightened girl staring at the boy with reddish spittle clinging to his bottom lip. He nodded slightly but did not smile, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at her.

"Yeah?"

"My da is right. Be real careful." He gave her a terse nod and swiped sharply at the steps with his broom as if to emphasize his point. "No' too many people understand these things."

With a half-smile, he whipped his cap off of his head and slapped it onto Nat's skull. She stared at him, perplexed, but he just winked. "There. It looks good on yeh. You're an all-new girl."

By the time she'd made it back out to the road, this time a little better concealed by the trees and the sweaty cap drawn low over her eyes, the yearning to rip into the bag and wolf down some of the food was almost irresistible. Her stomach gurgled and churned, a strong hunger that she hadn't been aware she had finally reawakened by the promise of food. She pulled the sack open at the top and glanced inside. Along with the glass bottle of orange juice that she'd grabbed on her way out, there was a banana, a square shape wrapped in tin foil that she assumed was the sandwich, and two peanut butter cookies nestled in a paper napkin. She nibbled on half of a cookie, and put the rest away with an unhappy little groan.

In the early afternoon, she made it to town. Which town it was she didn't know; she'd gone the opposite direction from her old home in Hawthorne. It was smaller than Hawthorne, with neatly painted houses and a small library behind a picket fence. Children were playing on front lawns, shrieking and chasing one another, smeared with dirt and the sweat of play. Still a bit anxious about being spotted, the sheer number of open walkways and large windows made her nervous, but the tree-lined sidewalks were pleasant enough. Along the way, she'd picked up an oversized men's flannel shirt from a donation bin (feeling only slightly bad about the act), and was no longer at risk of freezing. Luckily, spring was rapidly nearing and she wouldn't have to spend many more cold nights on the run. Her body's demand for nicotine was beginning to make her irritable but her lack of finances and fear of being spotted at another store halted her desire to make a pit stop to purchase any herbals. After an unpleasant encounter with a stray dog, she spent a few minutes mourning the loss of her sandwich and moved on through the town.

The sun shone brightly and there were not clouds in the sky, save a few whispy shreds of cottony down at the horizon. Beyond the picket fences, daffodils and violet crocuses were pushing up through the soil, and the air smelled pleasantly fresh with the bite of a lingering chill. She passed people on the street, but none made any indication that they recognized her. There was still the chance, then, that people weren't yet looking for her. Hadn't Lily gotten up after she fell? And if she hadn't, if she had lain there and died, had Morgan and the other girls not told what they had seen?

Nat shivered and pushed the unpleasant thoughts from her mind.

Walking down what she assumed was the town's main street, Nat noticed a small alley between a grocery and a shoe store. _The perfect place for a nap_, she thought happily, which made her wonder briefly about her distorted conception of what constituted "perfect" and pondered how long it would take before the idea of sleeping outside didn't bother her at all anymore.

The alley was clean and well-kept, another plus in Nat's book. Half a dozen milk crates were stacked in the corner, and she laid them out in two rows of three, like a little bed. The flannel made a decent pillow, and after she'd eaten the banana (now badly bruised from transit), she fell asleep almost immediately.

Her sleep was deep but her dreams were troubled. There was fire, lots of fire, and she was in the middle of it. Her skin was cool to the touch, but inside there was a burning heat. She waved her arms at the people on the other side, screaming for help, crying that she couldn't get out. Lily was beside her, crying out for her mother as she herself was crumbling to ash. Outside the flames, Morgan stood staring at her with horrified eyes, screaming "_mutie_!".

The heavy-set man from the store was watching her intently through the flames, repeating something over and over that sounded like "give it a go" and "what's the worst that could happen?". With that gentle smile, he reached into the fire with a long arm that seemed to stretch until it was before her, and began to twist and twine until it was thin and flat like a piece of paper. Newsprint spidered across the surface and Nat took a terrified step back, further into the flames. The words seemed to glow with a strange phosphorescent light, and through the thick haze of smoke she could make them out.

"Give it a go."

Nat woke with a start, her heart pounding like a prisoner in her chest. The sky had begun to darken again, and she got to her feet with a mumbled curse. Tossing the flannel over her chilly shoulders, she set off from the alley and pointed herself in the direction of the coast. Deep down, she knew that's where she'd been headed all along.

Sighing, Nat took the newspaper clipping from her pocket and examined it as she had so many times. It was only about a dozen centimeters long in each direction, and much of that was taken up by a black and white photograph of a woman in a white lab coat standing beside a pair of gleaming metal doors. Her colored lips were drawn into a friendly smile and her dark hair was being tussled by a brisk coastal breeze that Nat could almost taste in the air. The words beneath read "Moira MacTaggart, bio-geneticist and the foremost international expert on mutant physiology and affairs, welcomes the reporter to her Muir Island Mutant Research Facility". The rest of the words were blurred and smudged by almost a year of handling, but Nat knew them by heart.

Natalie Elizabeth Fairbanks folded the paper neatly and returned it to her pocket with a protective pat.

"Okay, then. I'll give it a go."


	3. And the Ashes Start to Fall

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**Chapter Three: And the Ashes Start to Fall**

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Dr. Moira MacTaggart pushed her chair back from the lab table and twined her slender fingers together, giving her knuckles a good, dignified crack. Her spine felt stiff and achy, but her work was more urgent than the discomfort caused by physical inactivity. Yawning widely and removing her glasses to give her eyes a cursory rub, she leaned with her chin in her hand and her elbow on her cluttered desktop. She tapped at the keyboard with one finger and opened her e-mail, silently reading. The first of her many daily messages was from her long-ago-lover and current friend and confidant, Charles Xavier. A small smile stretched across her lips as she read, auburn hair falling into her eyes.

It was mostly the standard report of his students' activities, and it might have sounded dry to anyone who didn't so deeply understand Charles' wry sense of humor. She laughed quietly to herself as she read up on the latest exploits of one of the students that she remembered meeting several years before, the young German she'd met just before he went off across the ocean to the institute. Apparently, his swashbuckling romanticism and youthful comedy had managed to transcend the shy, self-conscious temperament she had encountered in him at their first meeting. It was good to hear.

The rapping at the door reminded her: it was long past lunchtime and she hadn't eaten all day. Again.

"Come on doon, Hank."

The young American pushed the door open and presented a tray of hot food balanced on one large hand. "Ta-dah!" he said, beaming, talking the stairs down to Moira's office four at a time.

Moira chuckled and accepted the tray, pushing aside stacks of papers to make room for it. She pushed out a seat for her friend, and he swung it around, straddling the seat backward and resting his chin on his folded arms. The chair looked dwarfed under his bulky body, and Moira stifled the slightly undignified desire to offer him a sturdier chair.

"I'd begun to worry that you'd forgotten your meals again, Dr. MacTaggart, so I tossed together something nutritious," —he reached behind his back and pulled out some sort of sugary cake wrapped in cellophane— "and delicious." He tossed his short dark hair with a deep laugh and tore into the plastic, tossing half of the sweet onto Moira's tray and devouring the other half in one bite. "Service charge."

"Aye, I had, Hank, and I thank ye. If it wasn' f'r yuir concern I'd likely starve and no' even know it."

"I'm quite sure your corpse would have a bit of trouble continuing on with your work after you'd passed, doctor, but it might find a way if it thought it would spite me. Have you heard anything from the authorities about the South African incident?" He nodded to her untouched cake, and she pushed the tray toward him. He snatched up the snack with a grateful wink.

She shook her head and sighed. "Nae, no' a word. It disnae appear tha' they think we're worthy o' response."

"It's not that, I'm sure. They're probably just afraid of what you'd undoubtedly uncover."

Moira cleared her throat. "I heard from the professor joost now."

"Oh, really? Anything interesting? How are Scott and Jean?"

"It sounds as if their studies are goin' quite well. They're goin' t' a college together not far from th' institute, and the professor sounds quite pleased wi' their training."

"I'm glad. Are they still at home? The institute, I mean. "

"Aye, they're—"

A buzzing sound interrupted Moira in mid-sentence.

"Is tha'? Nae, it cannae be! We haven' had a visitor in months!"

Hank chortled and swung himself up out of the seat. "You just finish that soup before it gets cold and I have to make more, Moira. That bowl alone took me three nearly disastrous attempts, and I believe I may have ruined one of the pots. I've got the door."

"Ye do tha', then, but its yuir job t' clean up th' kitchen!"

"Of course, good madam." He bowed deeply with a flourish of his arm, and Moira laughed, slapping at his shoulder.

Halfway up the stairs, he was halted by Moira saying, "Hank? D'ye think…" she looked away, looking sobered. "Tha' is, would you mind bringin' Kevin a bit o' soup? It's after lunchtime, an'…I don' know if I've got time…an'…"

The broad-shouldered youth hung back, looking as if the request were much more complicated than it seemed. Then again, it probably was. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically loud and his jaw was set, trying not to look as if the request bothered him. Moira choked back her guilt. "Yes, Moira, I'll make sure that he gets lunch." He turned and left the room with his normal speed, but the jovial mood of the room was now somewhat tainted.

Hank was gone for about ten minutes, and Moira was once again deeply engrossed in the latest batch of Kevin's test results, pouring over numbers and statistics that indicated his current status. Plugging in the necessary equations told her what she'd known for months: Kevin was getting considerably stronger. With a painful sigh, she clicked the intercom button, and her son's youthful face filled the screen. He was thin and pale, having not seen the sun in quite some time, and his eyes looked large and intense against his pallid face.

"Hullo there, my lil' one."

"I'm bored, Mum. I need somethin' t' do."

"I know, babe. Hank will be there in a bit t' give ye yuir lunch, and when he's back, I'll bring ye some books or somethin' else t' do." Kevin nodded, looking disappointed but not particularly surprised. She exhaled and closed the program with a faintly trembling hand, watching the screen crackle and fade to black.

The sound of the door swinging open jolted her attention upward, and she swung her gaze up the narrow metal staircase. Hank stood there, twisting his hands and looking atypically anxious.

"What th' devil is wrong with ye, lad? Are ye entirely daft or is somethin' wrong?"

"The visitor. She's here for you, Moira, and I believe that she is in need of your immediate attention."

"Wheel, who is it, boy, or hae ye gone mute?"

"A girl, about seventeen or so. She looks pretty badly off. I got her some food and put her down on the sofa, but she keeps asking for you. I think she's come quite a long way."

Moira leapt from her chair, ignoring it as it clattered away to the floor. "Don' joost stand there! Go!"

The trip to the living room was an agonizingly long one. When the door was opened and Moira finally got a look at the mystery guest, she felt her breath catch in her chest. The girl, who was clearly no more than seventeen or eighteen, looked worn and thin, and her clothes were scruffy. She wore a greasy men's shirt over a battered tank top, the straps twisted and shredded in a way that showed someone had tried to restrain her. Her dark hair hung about her shoulders in dirty loops from under a sweat-stained baseball cap that was a bit too large for her, and her face was sunken. Shockingly green eyes peered out of an ashen-skinned face, and a deep wound, apparently a few days old, gleamed above her brow. She sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, looking uneasy. There was a slight scent of burning wood on the air.

Moira rushed to the girl, who started slightly when she saw the doctor. Her eyes seemed to light up, and her mouth popped open. Moira sat down gently on the sofa, taking the girl by the shoulders and giving her a good natured little shake, surprised at how limp the girl's body went under her hands.

"What happened to ye, lass? Ye look like ye've been thrown to the dogs!"

The girl's haunted eyes grew glassy as she searched for the words she'd planned to say. She licked her chapped lips and started to suck on her tongue, knitting her brows together in thought. In Moira's peripheral vision, she saw Hank tiptoe silently out of the room, casting a concerned glance over his shoulder. When he returned a few moments later, he carried an open first aid kit, and approached the girl with a bit of gauze in his hand. To his consternation, the girl went suddenly tense and jerked away from his reach, jumping onto the couch with her knees drawn up underneath her body.

Moira grasped her smaller hand and pulled her closer, gently. "'Tis all right, lass. No one's goin' t' hurt ye here." She beckoned Hank forward. "This is Hank, a good friend o' mine. He joost wants to take a wee look at tha' forehead."

Slowly, Hank dabbed at the girl's gashed forehead, and she flinched slightly as the alcohol stung her injury and remoistened the dried blood before it was wiped away. Hank glanced down apologetically and continued, pausing a moment to hand her a cup of tea that Moira had poured from a teapot on the coffee table.

Moira went on as if she were speaking to someone other than the disheveled teenager getting her settee grubby. "An' _my_ name's Moira MacTaggart."

She was rewarded with a little nod, the first sign she'd seen that the girl spoke or understood any English. "I-I know who you are, doctor. I've come a long way to see you. It took me weeks to get here. Well, I guess it took me longer than that. More like seventeen years, really."

Moira smiled. "An' ye look it. How'd ye come, on yuir hands and knees in the mud?" The visitor glanced down at her dirty knees, embarrassed. "Och, I meant nothin' of it, lass. We're all a bit dirty after travelin' a long way. Now. What's yuir name?"

There was a long pause, and that contemplative look returned to her eyes. She studied the surface of her tea as if it were a magic looking glass. Finally, she succumbed to the painful desire for honesty. "My name's Natalie, ma'am. Or Nat."

"An' have you got more t' yuir name than tha', or are ye joost 'Natalie or Nat'?"

"My…my last name's Fairbanks."

Nat watched Moira apprehensively, as if she expected her to react in some way to the name. Moira leaned forward and added a bit of cream to her tea, stirring it so slowly that Nat was ready to scream under the influence of her apprehension. "Am I supposed to know the name, Nat?"

Finally, a smile lit up the girl's long face, making her appear more like she was sitting in a comfortable den and less like she was awaiting her execution date. "No, ma'am, I wouldn't think so."

Releasing a breath of relief at the girl's apparent relaxation, Moira smiled around the rim of her teacup. "Wheel, then, I suppose ye ought t' tell me what is so urgent tha' ye'd nearly tear yourself to itty bits to get t' me."

Another long pause. Nat swallowed hard, trying to clear her throat. "I need your help."


	4. The Only Creature

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"Man is the only creature that refuses to be what he is."   
-_Albert Camus_

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**Chapter Four: The Only Creature**

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For the next few weeks, Nat spent her time relishing the thrill, and the panic, of not having to hide her abilities. At first, she did little more than make things spark, afraid of causing damage to Moira's facility as well as being relatively unsure how to focus such energies, but after the first few days she found that she could really let it fly. She would stand on the cliffs of Muir Island and send great flaming balls of fire into the air, where they would hang suspended like some sort of strange, fiery mobile floating on invisible strings, before coming crashing down into the sea. There would be a faint hiss and a trickling trail of black smoke as the throbbing display of heat and destruction was extinguished in a moment under the icy waves of the Atlantic.

One day early in the second week, a friend of Moira's, a red-headed man named Sean, came to the Island, and Nat watched, fascinated, as he shattered boulders with a scream. Nat hung back in the room when he came in for tea, in such awe that she was almost too afraid to say anything. Still, his appearance was like setting eyes on an angel compared to meeting Moira's son.

Kevin MacTaggart had the body of a freckle-faced nine-year-old, and a telepathic ability that could scare the devil into submission. Nat had been in his presence for barely a minute, silently following Moira as the older woman went to spend some time with her son, when she felt herself growing dizzy. When she looked around and saw the walls beginning to drip blood, she'd tried to make her way to the door, only to find it blazing with fire. And _this_ fire was hot, even to her. Dogs were barking in the distance, as if her ears had been packed with cotton, and she remember the look of horror on Moira's face when the older woman whirled around, finally noticing that her young charge had followed her. By the time she fell to the floor, it was writhing with snakes, and, as suddenly as it had begun, things were normal again. Kevin had refused to eat for three days, shouting until he coughed blood, infuriated at the sight of his mother's gentle concern for the girl.

Nat wondered silently if this had been the way that Morgan felt at the sight of Lily's flaming nightgown, this sense of overwhelming terror in the face of someone, _something, so much more powerful than herself. She collapsed on her bed in silence, a fever raging in her body and the threat of a different fever making her hands ache. Hank brought her water and offered soup and Popsicles whenever she stopped moaning in pain, but she turned away his kind offers with tears in her eyes. She clutched at her belly and stifled the urge to vomit, sweat springing up on her flesh. On the third day, when Kevin finally agreed to swallow a few bites of toast and a bit of tea, Nat's fever broke and she lay on her bed, shaking in her sleep, as Hank gently toweled her cheeks and forehead._

And Nat realized that she, too, was afraid of mutants.

Unfortunately, she was also afraid of the rest of humanity. With normal humans, she was afraid of their hatred, their anger and their fear. With other _mutants_, she was equally afraid of seeing herself: an outcast, a creature with incredible strength, rejected by the entire world. She was afraid of their power.

Moira was more than willing to discuss Nat's abilities with her, which in fact became something of a nuisance as time wore on. Usually it was in a clinical sort of way, while Hank stood behind the doctor and smiled sheepishly, shrugging when Moira's attentiveness grew to the point of annoyance. Nat was measured and poked and measured and poked some more, as Moira took careful notes on every little change in the heat of the fire she was generating, the distance that she could make it fly, the destructive capabilities of smaller, more intense blasts of heat, and the effects of her occasional headaches and blasts of fever. Often, though, Moira and Nat spoke of other things relating to being a mutant. Moira had no personal experience in the matter, of course, but she really appeared to know her stuff. She seemed to know when Nat felt bitter or confused about her "gifts", as Moira called them, even when Nat just sat there with her eyes on the ocean, not uttering a word. Apparently, the way she felt was pretty standard, Moira said. That didn't make it any easier, and Hank's repeated attempts to convince her that she was "normal, for a mutant" left her feeling rather trivialized.

But Nat never spoke of her _fear_.

She also had long talks with Hank, and the young man instantly struck a chord with her. He was the only other mutant that she had known on a personal basis (and been aware of), but he also had plenty of stories to share. He told her of a school he had attended as a teenager, across the Atlantic in New York state, where he and other young mutants learned to harness their abilities and learn to keep them under the tightest of control. He could speak of this place and the man who ran it at long length, with a wistful gleam in his eye that seemed to say it was far longer than two years since he'd been there, acting as a team member, student and teacher all at once.

And Nat dreamed. Mostly, now, the dreams of fire and ash and screaming for help were gone, and in their wake remained a new sort of dream, in which she could walk down the street and light a stranger's cigarette with her finger, and he would thank her, and no one looked at her strangely or hurtled insults at her back. She would awaken after these dreams and lie on her back in bed, twisting her hands in the sheets and staring at the high white ceiling, imagining what it would be like and simultaneously cursing and laughing at herself for her ridiculous notions. For the first time, she had experienced the rush of being _herself_ in front of others and not being chastised for it, but it didn't seem to be enough. She wanted to be _normal_. Here, on this remote island with a brilliant scientist, a charming American mutant and a psychotic little boy, she could use her powers and not be attacked, but she was still the homeless little freak-girl dragged in from the cold.

Sometimes, the dreams were worse than the nightmares.

Nat had been with Moira and Hank for nearly four weeks when, over a supper of hot tomato bisque that seemed to coat the bones against the coastal storm blasting away outside, a phone call came in. Moira got phone calls all day, from this scientist or that researcher, but never after the hour of eight and rarely on the home line. Hank tipped his chair back slightly, surreptitiously trying to listen through the wall as Moira answered, and a great clear smile spread across his face. His blue eyes gleamed behind his narrow-framed glasses and he returned to his meal with renewed vigor as he gobbled up his soup.

Nat jumped up and ran to the other side of the table, nearly knocking over Hank's bowl in the process, and pressed her ear against the wall next to his head. He chuckled at her, but she slapped at his shoulder. "What is it? What's she saying? Come on—"

"If ye really wanted t' know, I'd hae told ye, Natalie."

With a little yelp of alarm, Nat skittered back to her seat, twiddling her thumbs in her lap and trying to look as if she hadn't been eavesdropping. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she managed only a sheepish smile in her own defense. Moira was back in the doorway, watching with a glint of humor in her eye, but Nat didn't pick up on it. _Now I've done it_, she thought, mentally banging her head against the wall.

Sensing Nat's horror, Moira smiled broadly and settled herself back in her chair, folding her hands daintily in front of her on the tabletop. Nat smiled back, but her cheeks reddened and her eyes were fixed firmly on the butter dish.

"Wheel, it sounds like we'll be havin' guests this weekend."

Nat started slathering a wheat roll with jam, watching her hands move as if she'd never seen anything like it. "Really? That's…nice."

Hank grinned even wider. "It's better than _nice_, dear girl, it's marvelous! Professor Xavier is coming to see you!"

Nat's hands went weak and the butter knife fell with a clatter, chipping the edge of the fruit bowl. The roll fell into her soup, making a fantastic splatter of red on the breast of her sweatshirt. "Coming to see _me_? _Here_? This _weekend_?" Nat's voice was shrill, her eyes widened like the clear green bottoms of old bottles.

Hank reached across the table and patted her pale hand with his enormous one. "It's not as bad as all that, I assure you. You'll undoubtedly like the professor, and he'll probably be bringing some of the students with him. I've been wishing that you and Jean could meet."

Moira's smile had faded, and her pale brow was creased. "I was sure tha' ye were going t' be thrilled…"

"I was. I mean, I am. I mean…that's great. Wonderful." Nat tried to smile but felt her eyes begin to fill with traitorous tears. Trying to smother them with her fingertips, she pressed them back into her eyes as if it would stop their flow. She turned away from the table, gulping at the air to regain some composure, utterly humiliated at her childish display. "I'm…tired. I'm g-going to go to bed early tonight. Sorry about the m-mess, Moira."

She pushed her chair aside and fled from the room, leaving Moira and Hank at the table, open-mouthed and stunned.

"I really _was_ sure tha' she'd be thrilled…"

In her room, Nat was sat slowly down on the edge of her bed, which made a squeal of ancient springs, and stared out the window.

They were coming. To see _her_! Her eyes wanted to cry, and her stomach wanted to lurch about as if she were still on board the fishing boat that had dropped her here almost a month before. Her head wasn't sure what it wanted to do. Still ashamed over her apparent disregard of Hank and Moira's kind words, and of the professor's impending visit itself, she tried not to think about it. In the darkening evening, she sat watching the waves crash against the rocky seawall, wondering if Kevin could see the water from his room. She supposed so. It _was_ an island, after all.

It was going to happen _this_ weekend. It was Wednesday, so she still had a full two days on Muir before they came. What if he brought all of his students? She'd seen pictures and listened patiently to Hank's stories. That was more than enough for her. But what if they wanted to bring her back with them? Back to their school, where she'd be _living_ with all of them, all those dangerous freaks and oddities? Then again, would it be so bad if that's what they wanted? Surely Moira wouldn't force her to go. Would she?

A bitter rage at the entire situation rose in Nat's throat as an angry howl. She hurled her pillow at the wall and wished it would break something, disappointed as it landed harmlessly on the top of the dresser. This had only been her room for a month. It wasn't fair for it to be taken away so soon.

As easily as the fury, a new sense of guilt was beginning to creep up on her. She was hating these people before she even met them. It was simple enough to hate someone that you didn't know, Nat knew this better than most people, and she was beginning to feel a bit sorry that she hated them so much already. In the end, they were like her.

But that was exactly why she was afraid of them.


	5. Four and Twenty Blackbirds

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**Chapter Five: Four and Twenty Blackbirds…**

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By Saturday, Nat was thrust back into that unpleasant realm of exhaustion and anxiety. She was up into the early morning before finally collapsing into a dreamless sleep that seemed like a blessing, only to awake a mere two hours later with her back kinked. The sun was barely creeping up over the cliffs and her eyes felt as if they were plastered with rubber cement, but she was far too tense and jittery to even seriously _consider_ going back to sleep. Her fingers lay like narrow logs on the edge of her blanket, clutching the quilt like a lifeline.

For the past two days, she had tried to be as cheerful as possible. She laughed at corny jokes and played board games late into the evening when the weather made any outdoor activity impossible. She helped Hank with the cooking and even followed Moira on her daily visit to Kevin's room. The boy seemed pleased to hear that Xavier was coming to meet Nat, which left Nat feeling even more fretful, but she pulled off a moderate smile nonetheless. There was no reason to make anyone angry or make them feel bad, and _especially_ no reason to give Moira an excuse to get rid of her. Even with her most concentrated attempts at optimism and good spirits, she'd been waking in the night with horrid nightmares and left the table in tears again on more than one occasion. Hank had taken to making her small origami animals that to cheer her up, his ability to create tiny works of art out of paper napkins surprising considering the size of his meaty hands.

Now, she remained in bed for nearly an hour, savoring the feeling of security that trickled into her bones from the cool linen sheets and heavy quilts around her legs. At five minutes to six she rose and made her way to the kitchen, keeping one hand on the wall and the other on the banister all the way down the stairs. She even took the squeaky ninth step, stepping slowly so it would make an even longer groan of protest than usual, drenching herself in the feeling and sounds of the old building.

The warm smells of frying sausage and cooking farina wafted up to her nose upon entering the kitchen. Hank was seated at the table, tapping noisily at his laptop and scowling at the idiocy of someone in a chatroom, and Moira was scrambling about over the stove. It was a strange, entirely too domestic scene, and Nat felt a pang of regret that these people weren't her parents. Of course, Hank was only three years older than she was and Moira was the mother of the most frightening mutant that Nat had ever even heard of, but it still seemed rather familial, and painfully reminded her of her own lack of relations.

She cleared her throat, and Moira swung around, looking startled. Her face lit up into a nervous smile, and she approached Nat with a determined shimmer in her eye.

"I'm so glad ye're up, dear! Hank's busy with tha' damned machine o' his again—" Hank swatted the air in their general direction, but didn't look up from the little flashing screen. "—but _I_ got up early t' make ye a nice, hot breakfast."

Moira grasped Nat's shoulder in an almost painful grip and steered her to a chair. Nat was plopped down and pushed up to the table, and Moira was back to the stove in a twinkle, piling a plate with cereal and sausage. She slapped the plate down on the table in front of Nat with a happy little flourish of her hips, and Nat got the impression that Moira, too, was enjoying this little display of maternalism. It wasn't often that Kevin came to the table, and it was even more rare that Moira took to cooking.

Once Moira had gotten herself a plate, she sat directly opposite Nat's chair. Hank looked up, roused by the smell of hot food, but Moira shook her head around a bite of toast. "Ye kin git yuir own, sir."

Hank gave his customary grin and went to the stove, tossing the rest of the food onto a large ceramic plate that Nat assumed only he ever used. It was large enough to feed two, maybe three, ordinary men. Then again, Hank McCoy was hardly ordinary.

Nat stared down at her plate, not at all hungry. She picked lightly at her toast to keep Moira from feeling insulted and rolled a sausage link around on the edge of the plate. She kept her eyes carefully averted, but made quiet conversation, joining in when she felt it was necessary and blandly answering any questions that were asked of her.

As the plates were being cleared, Nat raised up the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in her chest since she awoke.

"So, when…when are they going to, um, get here?"

Moira paused for a moment, and the glance that passed between her and Hank was brief, almost imperceptible.

"They're scheduled to arrive round noon, I think. Is tha' right, Hank?"

"I'm quite sure."

Nat glanced at the clock above the mantel. Five and a half hours until…what? Just what was she dreading with such a heavy heart? Even _she_ wasn't sure anymore. "Okay. I think…I think I'd like to walk down to the beach for a bit, if you don't mind."

Moira let out a sigh of relief and dropped a dirty plate into the sink. "O' course, dear. 'Tis a fine mornin' for a stroll. Care for company?"

"No, thanks. There's no sense making everyone bundle up. I'll only be a bit."

Outside, the morning air was cold and biting. Everything was wet and smelled briny-cool, with a gusty wind picking up on the cliffs and whistling slightly through gaps in the rock. This was how she had known Muir Island over the past few weeks, a crisp-aired, brackish-scented stone in the cold of the Atlantic, and this was exactly the way she loved it. Beaches of white sand and palm trees held little appeal for her now, with their warm green water and tourists scattered about. The shrieking of seagulls and whipping winds of Muir were the way she loved the ocean.

Wrapping Moira's woolen shawl around her shoulders, Nat folded her legs beneath her body and took a seat on the edge of her favorite cliff, watching a flock of gulls squawk and scatter several meters below. Moss had crept up between the reddish gray stone, and she poked at it distractedly with the point of a stick. She watched in a trance as her hair twisted and flew in the wind, twining together and dancing like serpents.

Her gaze went out to the sky, a solid blue-gray wall of clouds. There were birds there, too, in the distance and above her head. Something else caught her eye and she caught her breath. The "something" was shining and black and entirely unnatural in the softness of the island sky, too angular to blend with the curves of the heavens and the straight line of the horizon. It was small in the distance, but as it neared Nat could see that it was quite large up close, a fierce metal beast stalking up toward the island on silent feet.

Nat's vision blurred with fear and anger. There was no longer just one of these things in the sky, hovering over the landing pad on the southern end of Muir Island. There were a dozen, two dozen perhaps, with great black wings bared and windows glinting. Her tears multiplied the one flying beast to a small army and she bit her lip in irritation. With an angry shout, Nat raced back to the building, dropping the shawl behind her on the moss.

She flung the back door open wide and stalked irately into the kitchen, where Hank was helping Moira scrub pans.

"Back so soon, dear?" Moira turned and faced Nat, who's face was red with cold and fury.

"Well, I _had_ to come back to tell you that your friends are here, didn't I?"

"They're here? Hank, go git the landin' pad ready f'r the Blackbird! I didnae know they'd be here so soon!"

As Hank hurried from the room, Moira came to Nat's side, brushing her tangled hair out of her eyes. Nat dropped into a chair, looking shapeless and defeated.

"What's worryin' ye, lass? I might be joost a new friend, but I know ye're not takin' this well." She chuckled softly.

Nat's hands came up to her eyes, and she buried her face in the crook of her arm. "Of course I'm not! They weren't supposed to get here for another five hours! It's rude, that's what it is!"

"'Tis nae what's botherin' ye, or ye wouldnae hae been carryin' on so these past few nights."

Nat was silent, rubbing her palms together as if she were cold. A familiar tingling had begun there, a burning that she was determined to snuff. "Maybe I just don't feel like having weird people running around looking at me like a circus animal."

"Och, Natty, they'd hae come to see Hank an' I whether or nae ye'd been here, so don' feel like they've come all this way just to poke and prod about yuir life. An' they're nae all _that_ strange, if ye know them."

Nat sniffled and wiped her nose on a napkin. "Well I don't know them, and they _are_ strange to me."

"Don't ye worry now, lass. Charles—that's Professor Xavier t' ye, missy—is a decent man. He'd nae _want_ you to be troubled by his visit." Moira's gaze met Nat's, and her eyes were warm. "Trust me here, lass, an' help me greet my friends."

Bubbling inside with emotions of every name and more, Nat collapsed against Moira's side, with her head in her hands again. "Oh, I'm being such a _child_!"

Moira chuckled and patted Nat's shoulder. "'Tis because ye _are_ a child, lass, despite the sound of yuir voice or the shape of yuir bosom. Ye'r far from bein' a woman in many respects, but that's nothin' t' be ashamed of."

Nat sighed and got to her feet, blushing slightly but resolute in her resolve not to embarrass herself or Moira in the eyes of these newcomers. She let Moira hug her, not much feeling like returning the gesture, and tried to straighten her hair in her reflection on the refrigerator door. Her hand in Moira's, Nat followed the older woman out of the kitchen and out of the building, across the island to the landing pad where hugs were being exchanged between Hank and his old friends.

Nat stiffened her jaw and tried to force a smile, but Moira squeezed her hand and laughed quietly, whispering under her breath, "Ye look like ye've swallowed a lemon."

Nat laughed out loud despite herself, and allowed herself to be led to the Blackbird, where a small crowd was waiting to meet her.


	6. Baked in a Pie

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"The basis of optimism is sheer terror."   
-_Oscar Wilde_

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**Chapter Six: …Baked in a Pie**

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The air was still cold, but the flurry of hugs exchanged between Moira and the students on the landing pad seemed to be enough to warm anyone up. Anyone, that is, except the dark-haired girl that she'd brought out with her, who stood off to the side, staring down at her feet. Her cheeks were pink with cold and her hair was tousled by the wind, like everyone around her, but she didn't seem to mind it much.

Finally disengaged from Moira's determined arms, Kurt pulled his sweater tighter around him, trying to shield himself against the painful chill in the air, and decided _that_ must be her problem. Obviously, she was cold. He could tell by the way she hugged herself and squeezed her hands into little fists. She'd said hello to the professor in a civil enough manner, but now she was back to her spot a good two meters away, refusing to come near anyone but Moira. Ever the jovial gentleman, Kurt decided to change that. He approached her with a swinging gait, grinning broadly.

"_Guten tag_, _fraulein_. Und how are you? Cold, I'd bet."

She trained her green eyes on him, studying him with a thoughtful, slightly anxious expression that went slightly rigid when her gaze met his gleaming yellow stare. "Not particularly."

"Are you sure?" He tugged hastily at the hem of the maroon sweater he wore, giving Nat a glimpse of the waistband of a pair of hideously green boxer shorts. She caught herself wondering if he knew that he looked like a box of crayons. "You can have my sweater if you've changed your—"

"I _said_ I was fine, thank you." Nat scowled at the young man, the young _blue_ man, and turned her upper body away from him, succeeding in looking very haughty and uninterested in his attention. She shot him a first-rate glare for good measure.

Kurt swallowed hard, surprised, and shrugged, slightly hurt but not letting it show. "All…right."

So there Nat stood, watching and listening but saying almost nothing, and absolutely _freezing_. She watched the regal dark-skinned woman with the mane of pearly hair, and continued to sulk even in the rich sound of the woman's voice. She watched the slender brunette and listened to how many times she could say "like" in a sentence, and the young black boy with, for some reason, a skateboard beneath his arm. There was a beautiful redhead and her sunglasses-wearing boyfriend deep in conversation with Hank; Jean and Scott, Nat supposed, recognizing the girl's strikingly lovely features from a photograph Hank had shown her. And, of course, the fuzzy blue guy who had offered her his sweater, now chattering away with Moira about someone they had apparently left behind. His tail flicked about in the air, and Nat suppressed a shudder.

The professor was by far the most intimidating of the little troupe, a fair-skinned man dressed like a middle-aged GQ model, sitting in his chair with a gray blanket draped across his lap. His head was completely bald and his jaw was square, and Nat imagined had to shake the feeling that she had wondered into a distorted episode of Star Trek. He'd shaken her hand when they'd met, and held her wrist firmly, with a warm sense of confidence. Nat couldn't help wondering if he was listening to her thoughts, and the idea unnerved her to the point that a chill spread through her belly, and heat flared across her fingertips.

Back in the parlor, things went much the same. They sat family-style around the table, chatting amongst themselves and munching on crackers and tea. Moira could see Nat's discomfort (it wasn't hard to pick up on) and tried her damndest to get the sullen girl involved in the conversation. She focused on the other students rather than the professor, hoping that a little friendly banter with others of her own age would loosen Nat's tongue and help her retain control over her reeling stomach.

"I hear ye're a fan o' the Beatles, Kurt. Natty's quite th' admirer herself." As soon as she'd said it, Moira backed off, leaving Nat to fend for herself, knowing perfectly well that Kurt would manage to deal with her.

"Ach, really? Do you have their albums, Natty?"

"Don't call me Natty, please. And no. I don't have any albums."

A small frown creased his indigo brow. "_Nein_? Oh. Vell, das's okay. Actually, I've got vun in the Blackbird. Und Flogging Molly, if you like them." He shrugged with a grin, his teeth looking incredibly white against his strangely colored face. "I listen to them sometimes ven ve fly. Kitty hates it."

"No offense, but it seems to me that Kitty would hate any kind of music that isn't featured in the latest _Tiger Beat_."

Despite himself, Kurt laughed. A few seats down, Kitty shot an indignant scowl in Nat's direction. Kurt continued as if he had not been interrupted. "I could get it if you'd like. I'm sure Moira has _something_ to play it vith _somvere_ on this island. Und if she doesn't, ve can play it on the Blackbird. _Ja_, das's even better. The professor von't mind: I know how to fly it."

Nat gulped and tried to swallow the hard lump forming in her throat, surprised at how easily it went down this time. She tried to tell herself how much this meant to Moira. If she could put up with the creepy blue guy for a while, her part in this little charade would be complete. She had to admit, the boy was being very generous in his level of patience. "Um…okay. That'd be…um, fun."

Kurt led her out into the yard, where the Blackbird sat like an enormous tethered dog. Up close, it was a hulking machine of gleaming black metal that looked considerably less graceful when it was grounded. Kurt deftly opened the side hatch and leaped up the steps with stunning agility, then thought better of it and came back down. He waited for her at the bottom, signaling with a little wave of his three-fingered hand that she should go up, and Nat realized with a jolt that this young man's strange appearance wasn't as striking when he was in motion, and gave him an amazing aura of grace.

"Ladies first."

Nat blushed despite herself, and took the stairs slowly into the massive aircraft. It was smaller inside than she had expected, but there was still enough room to move about comfortably. Kurt punched a few buttons on what Nat guessed was the stereo panel, then tossed his narrow body into a large, plush seat, sparsely upholstered in grey and black. He crossed his ankles on the headrest of the seat in front of him, folding his hands behind his head as music started to fill the cabin, his yellow eyes closing dreamily. Nat sat lightly on the edge of the seat across the aisle from him with her hands folded in her lap, still rather discomfited.

The two sat in an almost companionable, awkward silence for several minutes, Nat waiting for Kurt to say something and Kurt waiting for Nat to realize that no one _had_ to say anything. He yawned widely, unintentionally giving Nat a good shot of his sharp, white canine teeth. She shuddered the way she had at first seeing his tail, which was now snapping back and forth between the two of them like it had a mind of its own. Somehow, it didn't bother her anymore. Neither did the blue fuzz. Now, it was just those teeth.

Finally, when Nat was starting to fear that maybe the mutant beside her had lost consciousness, he laughed out loud, making her jump.

"What? What's so funny?"

"I still haven't gotten my cake."

There was a long pause. "_Excuse_ me?"

Kurt's feet slipped down off the headrest and he pulled himself upright, yellow eyes flashing at his little joke. "Ven I first came here, about two and a half years ago, Moira promised me dat I could have some cake. I'd forgotten about it until just now."

Nat's face was blank. "Why did you think of it now?"

"I dunno," he said with a laugh, tossing his shoulders. "I like cake."

A sudden, inexplicable urge rushed through Nat's body, and the words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them. "Do you want to help me make one?"

"_Was_?"

"Duh. A cake. D'you want to help me make one?"

A smile drew slowly across Kurt's fuzzy face. Nat ignored the surprise in his eyes. "_Ja, klingt wundervoll_."

Now focused on a mission other than a Beatles session in the back of the Blackbird, the two uneasy associates left the jet and set off for the kitchen. Head whirling with confusion at her own sudden desire to _bake_, Nat was silent all the way there, but Kurt didn't seem to mind. He chattered on about his chemistry teacher back home, and some gigantic project that he should have been working on at that very moment.

The kitchen was still only half clean after the interruption of the X-Men's arrival, but they made do. Kurt pushed the dirty pans haphazardly into the sink full of soapy water while Nat searched every cabinet in the place for the necessary ingredients. Finally, after a good ten minutes of searching, she walked to the center of the tiled kitchen and put her hands on her hips, as if she could intimidate the room into cooperating.

"Would you believe it? We've got one of the world's most complex computer systems and research facilities just down the hall, and there isn't a cake pan in the place." She pointed at the stack of items she _had _discovered. "But there's eight pie pans. _Eight_!"

Kurt stifled a chortle, glad to see that Nat was finally beginning to warm to him, even if it was only to complain about the lack of cooking utensils. "Vell, ve could alvays make a pie."

Nat frowned slightly. "You know, that's kind of a good idea." A smile erupted on her face, and he noticed for the first time that she had dimples. He was starting to see the girl that Moira had been so excited about introducing them to.

"Now. To start ve need a crust, and for that ve need…_was_?"

She counted off the ingredients with her fingers. "Butter, sugar, flour, eggs and…salt, I think."

Kurt disappeared into the pantry, the sounds of his rummaging, including several loud thuds and some rather loud German curse words, filling the kitchen. Nat smiled inside, and found that she was smiling on the outside, too. Suddenly, there was a loud popping noise and a strange sulfuric odor in the air. Nat looked around for the source of the offending scent, and saw Kurt next to the oven with his arms full of packages and a victorious glint in his eye. Wisps of pinkish gray smoke curled around his ankles, and Nat involuntarily gasped. Kurt ignored her reaction and held up his bounty of various food products. "_Butter_, _zucker_, _mehl_, _eier_, _und salz_! Und a _little_ more, too."

Nat giggled nervously, trying desperately to ignore the dissipating smoke, and helped him heap his loot onto the counter, scattering parcels messily. Two eggs rolled off of the counter and landed with a _crack_, and good amount of flour was spilled on the tile as well. A glass bottle of paprika teetered on the edge of the Formica, but Nat caught it just before it fell and shattered.

"What'd you think we'd need _this_ for?"

Kurt shrugged. "It's a nice color."

"Um, how about we _not_ use it?"

He shrugged again, grinning widely now. "Okay."

The two young mutants stood back and surveyed their options. Nat rubbed her chin in thought. Kurt pursed his lips.

"Vat now?"

"We'd better start mixing things together. It's not going to turn into a pie just by having us stare at it."

"Das's _probably_ true. But vat if I told you about my other mutant pow—"

"Oh, shut up."

Kurt laughed and made his way for the items strewn on the counter. He tossed a few eggs into a large glass bowl, lobbing the shells over his shoulder to scatter across the table, smiling at Nat's shocked expression. "Ve can clean up later."

Measuring out cups of flour to add to the improvised concoction, Nat felt something cool, wet and very sticky trickling down her elbow. With a little shriek, she jerked her arm to dislodge the irregular sensation, watching in horror as a thick golden liquid seeped onto the back of her hand.

"Sorry!" Kurt shouted, handing her a wet towel and smirking slightly. "The honey got away from me."

He didn't have time to duck as something small and white hurtled toward his head. Yoke splattered on his neck and dribbled down past his collar, and the slippery remains made a shiny, gooey mess of his face. Nat smiled and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Sorry. The _egg_ got away from _me_."

Kurt laughed hard, spraying little bits of egg across the kitchen to land on Nat, who squealed and leapt out of the way. When they'd finally calmed down again, they went back to adding more ingredients to the bowl, flicking raisins and flour at one another at regular intervals, yelping in a feigned affront each time.

Once the crust was in the oven and baking, they set to work on a filling. A mixture of peaches, raisins and cinnamon was the closest they could get to a fruit filling, and it was proving to be the messiest task so far. Kurt peeled and pitted the fruit, managing to slop a great deal onto the floor, and Nat was tentatively cooking it over a low flame, mixing in whatever sweet-smelling spices Kurt had dug out of the pantry.

With towels wrapped around his hands like giant oven mitts, Kurt pulled the crust out of the oven and set it on the countertop to cool. The small pot that Nat was using to boil the fruit was full nearly to the point of overflowing, and, as she brought it closer to the crust to pour it in, it sloshed onto the floor, adding to the sticky mess there.

Unfortunately, neither of the two noticed the smear of egg under Nat's right foot. Just as she reached the counter where the crust was waiting patiently, her foot shot out from underneath her and she let out an undignified bellow. The pot stayed firmly in her hand, but a flying ball of peaches and cinnamon shot across the room, splashing across the wall and oozing down to the floor, looking a lot like orange-tinted slugs. The rest of the warm peach juice poured onto Nat, who was laying on the floor at Kurt's feet. They were both silent for a long moment, staring back and forth from each other to the huge, sloppy disarray that they had made out of the kitchen. Slowly, a grin began to play at the corners of Kurt's lips.

"Oh, vell. It's a _very _good crust." He popped a bite into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, smiling.


	7. Ice Water

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**Chapter Seven: Ice Water**

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The look on Moira MacTaggart's face when she entered the kitchen to make lunch was a fabulous one. There, seated in the center of the room amongst egg shells, fruit juice and a fine dusting of flour, were Kurt and Nat, laughing hysterically and munching on what appeared to be an empty pie crust. The doctor's eyes widened and her mouth popped open in shock, uttering an indignant shriek that was heard across the entire floor level.

"Joost _what_ is goin' on in here, ye little hooligans?"

It took only an hour for the two young mutants to utterly destroy the kitchen, and the better part of the afternoon to repair the damage. Moira had stood over them for good fifteen minutes, tapping her toe and frowning. Fortunately, you get to know people rather quickly when you spend a day with them on your hands and knees scraping smashed peaches off of a tile floor, and by the time dinner rolled around Kurt and Nat were speaking more companionably than she was able to do with most people. She didn't even find his sharp teeth disturbing anymore. For the most part.

The rest of the X-Men were another story. Up in her room around six o'clock that evening, locked in the steamy shower stall and trying to squeeze the last of the peach juice out of her matted hair, her heart was pounding in her chest so hard that she feared she might collapse with a coronary and she would be discovered later, naked, wet and still smelling oddly of cinnamon. Downstairs, Hank and Jean were fixing dinner, and in less than an hour she'd be at the table with Hank, Moira and their distinguished visitors. Nat leaned against the smooth, soapy shower wall, letting the water stream down over her back and, for the first time in her seventeen years, crossed herself, whispering quiet prayers that she would be able to get through the evening without causing even more trouble for Moira.

As she rinsed the third handful of shampoo from her hair, a raisin fell off the back of her neck.

She wasn't sure what she was afraid of happening. Inside, she was still afraid that Moira wanted to send her to Xavier's institute. Even more, she was afraid that she'd do something that she'd regret. _Again. Her powers tended to be a little…agitated when she was feeling on edge, and her hands were tingling even now. In the month that she had been on the island, she was yet to tell Moira exactly why she'd come to her in the first place._

Maybe there was no one in the world that knew about her past, except those girls back at the school, and many of them were likely to abandon what they had seen as a flight of fancy. But when so many of them had seen it…Nat shuddered at the thought. There was no way that they hadn't spoken up. It just wouldn't be logical. No, she wouldn't ever be returning to Hawthorne or to the school where she'd spent all of her teenaged years up until the fire, and she wasn't particularly disappointed about that. Her home was on Muir Island with Moira. Nat was amazed at how quickly she had taken to this place. Even at school she'd never felt this sense of _home_, and she'd lived there for six years.

Now, there was a good chance that she would be leaving the island and her small but comfortable seaside bedroom to depart the country. Then, she'd end up living in yet another school surrounded by people who made her feel uncomfortable. Kurt, with whom she had spent the afternoon, was welcoming and kind, but a tentative friendship wasn't quite enough to lure her away from the only place where she'd ever felt some level of peace.

After all, what would happen if they learned about the fire? She'd either be shipped back to the authorities or, immeasurably worse, stranded, friendless and alone, in a country she didn't know. It was a weak argument, even in her head. Moira could find out about the fire, too, and she'd probably be in pretty much the same predicament, whether or not Moira was her friend.

_Or maybe they'd keep me_, she thought, but quickly pushed the idea away as fantasy.

Nat knew that the discovery of her past wasn't what frightened her. Not now. It was the idea of returning to a normal life again, a life of school days and video rentals and a houseful of teens, but never reaching that level of normalcy she desired so strongly. It was returning to the life of an imposter. If she were going to be a mutant, she didn't see the wisdom in returning to a world where she'd be smack dab in the middle of one of the most stressful and self-questioning environments on earth: high school, which was hard enough without the added strain of a dangerous genetic anomaly.

And there was still that little issue of being afraid of the X-Men. Kurt's company had done a lot to ease that particular fear, but the thought of living with them was still disturbing. It was as if doing so was to accept the fact that she was destined to live like a freak for the rest of her life, surrounded by other freaks, barely scraping by in a world that would rather she were dead.

Nat stepped out of the shower with a sigh, wrapping her hair in a towel. She caught a glimpse of herself in the steam-clouded mirror. A fair-skinned girl of medium height and average build, dark-haired and standard looking. Only her eyes gave her anything to take a second glance at, and she'd long since grown used to them. There was a freckle on her neck and another on her cheek, as well as a faded scar on her arm where she'd once fallen into blackberry brambles. Nothing gave her away as a mutant, and she thought for a moment, as she often did at catching a glimpse of her reflection, that perhaps she had been dreaming up till this point. Perhaps she would go downstairs and play Scrabble with her happily married parents and her 1.3 younger brothers before calling her boyfriend to go to the movies. Then he'd come to pick her up with a bouquet of flowers and a shiny red sports car before he asked her to go steady. If only life were as simple as the sitcoms of the Fifties.

A tiny voice in her head reprimanded her, saying, _Don't be silly, you little git. Not even _normal_ people live like that._

She suppressed the urge to scream. _There just aren't any easy choices for Natalie Fairbanks, are there? _she thought angrily. She could go with the X-Men happily and try to embrace their offer of friendship, only to risk facing reality and, possibly, future abandonment. Or, she could try to stay with Moira, and risk the same thing with a little less emphasis on the reality part. Then, of course, there was the option of running away from it all again.

Nat looked up into the mirror, staring herself directly in the eye and giving herself a pinch on the wrist. "No running. Not any more."

Her hands continued to burn, but she took a deep breath and sat on the edge of her bed for a few minutes, trying to ease them. When she felt a little better, she yanked a comb through her wet hair, dressed carefully in the sweater and skirt she'd laid out for herself, and made her way to the dining room, head swimming.

Kurt had saved a spot for her between himself and Jean, which she accepted gratefully after only the slightest of pauses, stumbling slightly over the leg of the chair. A little embarrassed, she folded her tingling hands in her lap and chewed on her bottom lip, making cautious conversation that seemed to come out in a whisper. Moira eyed her warily, afraid for Nat's sake that this was going to end in another fit of tears. At the sight of Moira's anxious expression, Nat plastered a smile on her lips and raised her eyes to the rest of the table.

The salad was fine, and Nat was actually beginning to enjoy chatting with Jean about music and novels when Professor Xavier turned his gaze on her. He smiled and set his fork down beside his plate, steepling his hands in an interested way and leaning forward. Apparently, the conversation he'd been having with Kitty had expended enough to include her.

"And what kinds of academic interests do _you_ have, Miss Fairbanks?"

Nat's mouth went dry. She coughed a little and reached for her water glass, gulping down a large swallow. "At my old school I was pretty good at history. And, um, math."

He nodded, taking her bluntness graciously and moving on. She let out a little puff of air and rubbed her stinging palms together, imagining his filing that little tidbit away in his immensely powerful brain. Again, she wondered if he could tell precisely what she was thinking, and hoped that he couldn't. Beside her, Kurt smiled and leaned forward, whispering, "Don't vorry. The professor tends to make people a little nervous."

She returned the smile gratefully.

On the other side of her, Jean was occupied helping Scott with something he'd managed to spill on his shirt, so Nat and Kurt continued on their own, speaking a little softer than everyone else.

"So vere are you from?"

"Oh…um, a town on the mainland. You'd never have heard of it. It's about this big." She indicated it with her hand, holding her thumb and forefinger a centimeter or two apart. "And you? I'd say Germany's a pretty safe bet."

He flashed the smile that she was now beginning to expect every time she looked at him. "_Ja_, you'd be right."

She glanced down at her plate, puncturing little holes her potatoes with her fork. "So…do you miss your family and stuff? Being so far away, I mean."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You'd be surprised how little time I have to spend missing anyvun. Besides, I never knew my real family growing up."

"Really? Sorry. That must've been…very hard."

"I had my _freunde_, my friends. Und my adopted family, too. They vere very good to me. _Nein_, it vasn't as bad as it sounds."

Nat put her fork down and looked at him intently. "You're awfully optimistic aren't you?"

He nodded. "Sometimes you've got to be to keep from going completely _verrückt_."

She glanced away. "I didn't know my parents too well, either."

"Oh? _Warem_?"

"I'm told that my mother died when I was a baby, and that might or might not be true. And my dad…he left me with my aunt as soon as I began to…develop my powers. From there I got sent to a lot of boarding schools. He never really tried to contact me after that, and he died when I was fourteen. An accident killed him. Uh, a car accident or something."

"I'm sorry. So how'd you end up here?"

She took a large bite of potatoes, chewing it slowly and carefully. "I saw something in a newspaper and thought I'd give it a go. You know, try it out and all. I was curious about Moira. It's not every day that anyone dealing with mutants is mentioned in the news without being followed by the word 'lynched'."

"_Ja_, I know."

They sat silently for a few minutes, eating and listening to the conversation between the others. As she reached for the pitcher of ice water, Kurt continued.

"Have you considered coming back vith us? To the institute?"

That's when it happened. The delicate crystal pitcher tipped over and shattered, but Nat was probably the only one who saw it. In the same split second, there was a flash of bright light and a flare of heat, and the tablecloth was ablaze. Everyone leaped back, startled, and there were several shouts and screams. Hank grabbed a towel and started beating at the flames, and Scott followed his lead, whipping the fire into submission.

In all, it had only been burning for a few seconds, but the tabletop was charred and smoking. Not a piece of china or crystal glass was left without a mark, and the food had turned into charred lumps on the platters. Everyone was silent for a moment before Kurt let out a little squawk of laughter, staring at Scott's shocked expression.

Nat uttered a low, strangled moan and turned to flee, leaving Kurt's outturned hand empty as he reached for her arm.


	8. Fate Can be a Bitch, Sometimes

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"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

-_Frank Herbert_

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**Chapter Eight: Fate Can be a Bitch, Sometimes**

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He approached Nat's dark figure cautiously from behind, watching her closely. Her hair had been pulled down from its ponytail and sailed free like snakes, and her shoulders were slumped. More than anything, she looked like an outcropping of stone on the cliff-face, motionless and hard. Her white neck and hands gleamed slightly violet in the moonlight, and a sheen of tears was visible on her cold-blushed cheeks. He walked silently toward her, melting into the shadows around him. About three meters away, Kurt's toe slipped on a bit of loose stone, sending the fine shower of pebbles clattering away into the sea.

Nat wiped her face hastily with the sleeve of her green sweater and blinked hard, trying to suck back the flow of tears, but didn't turn around. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, rubbing her hands together. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

"I guessed." He came forward and sat cross-legged next to her, silent for a time with his face turned out to the shadowy ocean. It looked like a sea of mercury, black and shimmering slightly in the faint glow from the night sky. Thick gray clouds were building overhead, blotting out the moon and stars.

It didn't take long before Kurt's silence, his stillness and lack of action, began to rile Nat's blood. How dare he sit there looking at the water so peacefully, like nothing had happened!

She got to her feet, arms crossed to display her irritation and, perhaps, in a weak little show of defense. "Well?"

He didn't move, just blinked a few times before answering. "Vell _was_?"

"Aren't you going to yell at me for nearly torching you and your friends?"

"_Nein_, I vasn't planning on it."

She gaped and stared at him, stunned, one narrow brown eyebrow raised. "I…I…" Nat trailed off, tripping over her own words.

He was still for a moment longer, than stood, turned to her and gave a little smile. "I thought the room vas getting a little cold, didn't you?"

With an exasperated little sputter, she threw her hands into the air, the tears springing forth anew, streaming down her cheeks in little rivers. "You don't get it, do you? Even _you_ don't get it!"

She turned and fled, leaving Kurt alone on the edge of the cliff. Stumbling a bit on rocks and clumps of moss as she ran with tears blurring her vision, racing along the stones and flinging pebbles down the cliff-face on the way.

"_Warte_, Nat!"

Kurt watched her run for a moment, her hair streaming out behind and her sweater billowing in a cool wind that picked up off the ocean. He started to follow, then thought better of it and vanished in a little puff of pink smoke, reappearing beside her and grabbing her arm. She wrenched it away with a desperate little sob and turned to him, green eyes wide and haunted.

"_Stop_, Nat! Vere are you _going_?"

He grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake, feeling her body tremble with the intensity of her sobs. "I don't know, Kurt! I don't know anymore! I don't know where I'm going, or coming from, or anything! So just go away and leave me _alone_!"

Nat twisted herself out of his grip and continued to run, so he 'ported again, this time directly into her path, causing her to bounce off of his chest and spill onto the ground, surprised. Kurt reached down for her hand, but she glared at him and pushed him away, pulling herself to her feet and standing shakily. Her knee was bleeding slightly through a shredded hole in her skirt. The shock had stopped her tears, but replaced them with anger. She shivered in the dark, and her voice was low.

"Don't you even understand 'alone'?"

"_Ja_, of course I do. Do you?"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I just don't think you understand vat you might be throwing avay by not coming back vith me…I mean us."

"What, Kurt? What am I throwing away? The chance to make another damn screw-up and ruin my life again? If that's it, then thanks but no thanks. I think I'll have to turn you down."

"_Ja_, a chance, but not _das_!"

Her voice was high and loud by now, trying to shout over the growing winds. "A chance for what, then?"

"To learn to control vat you can do vith your _fire_! I've seen it now, and it's incredible. I've seen other mutants vith fire gifts, but yours are different, somehow. You could be so much to our team, but you aren't even thinking about it."  
Nat scowled. "You don't know how much I _have_ been thinking about it! Well, sorry, Kurt, but my life isn't dictated by what will be beneficial to your little 'team'."

"You don't think it vould help you, too? Vy vould I be telling you to come if I thought it vould not be a good thing?"

"I don't know, but the important thing is that neither do you! You think you're asking some helpless little freak to come home with you so you can give her a better life, but have _no_ idea who you're asking!"

"_Bitte_, Nat, listen to me—"

"No! _You_ listen to _me_! I don't give a damn what you've been told about me, or about yourself, or about that _institute_, but the universe doesn't care about a bunch of freaks who think they can save the world! Get it through your head: _we aren't wanted_." She jabbed his chest with her finger, but her voice dropped down again. "So if you think that you can make a difference by bitching and moaning until I decide to run off with you, go right ahead. But don't come crying to me when you're disappointed with the way things turn out and the world just kicks us out on our asses again. I'm not making the same mistake over and over."

She spun around and started walking back toward the building, gulping in great breaths of air and trying to stop the sob that waited in her throat. She barely heard Kurt over the wind when he spoke again, still standing, immobile, in the spot where she had shouted at him.  
"Vat vas it?"

Nat paused and looked at him, suppressing a sniffle at the sight of his dark, narrow body, looking both defeated and strengthened at the same time. "What was what?"

"Vat mistake did you make that vas so bad?"

He saw her eyes cloud over with despair, quickly masked and pushed away. "Something I'm not going to do again."

"Did you trust somevun?"

Her chin quivered. "No. I don't think I've ever really done that."

Kurt watched her intently, and she could see a sad little flicker in his yellow eyes. "You can trust me."

A wind howled past, ruffling their hair and kicking up the sand a little. The moon was exposed as a cloud inched past its face, bathing the beach and the cliffs in a soft white light. Nat twisted her hands together, looking distressed.

"I know."

"Than vat vas it? Vat did you do, or see?"

She choked back the lump in her throat. "I…I let myself think with my heart instead of my head, and…people got hurt."

"Das is the vay of the world, _nein_?"

"Maybe. But if I can stop it, I really rather would."

"Are you sure?"

"I…think so."

He came forward slowly, putting an arm over her shoulder. "You know, your head and heart can think together, if you give them the chance."

"Why do you speak so much of chances? What about fate? Destiny?"

"Vat destiny? The vun _you_ believe in? The vun vere you und I are only freaks, und nothing can be helped, und the vorld isn't vorth helping anymore?"

She lowered her eyes, staring over his shoulder at the sea beyond. "No….The destiny where…good things _and_ bad things happen, sometimes. When they're supposed to. And nobody can really do anything to stop it, but that's okay because it's…fate."

"I don't know. Do you?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yeah. I think I do."

"Then vat is so bad vith a little bit of heart in your thinking, if both the good and bad can come together?"

She dropped her head onto his shoulder. "Nothing. And everything. Have _you_ ever hurt someone? Physically, I mean. Have you ever hurt someone really, really badly?"

He blinked, a little taken aback. "_Ja_, I guess I probably have."

"And do you know what its like to have something inside you that could, at any second, be ignited by your heart and rip out across the world? Something that could hurt someone, or kill them, if you don't keep it down?"

He was silent for a moment. "I think ve all have that thing, if you look deep enough down."

"But we don't all let it free the way I do."

"_Nein_, I suppose not. But das is not your fault. All of us have something ve can't help about ourselves, but it can't be helped or most of us vould probably change it."

"You're right. I know you are."

"Then vy not learn to control the fire, vithout having to press it down so hard?"

"At your institute, you mean."

He put his other arm around her, hugging her firmly against him. "_Ja_. Das's vat I mean."

She blinked back a tear and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the battling emotions raging inside her, forcing herself to answer before fear could overtake her again.

"I think…I think I'd like to try." 


	9. The Cellophane Brigade and Pancakes for ...

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**Chapter Nine: The Cellophane Brigade and Pancakes for Breakfast**

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Early the following morning, Nat was jerked out of sleep by a bellow, thundering footsteps, and a shriek of dread, just outside her bedroom door. Terrified, she sat up quickly and somehow managed to strike her forehead against the wall. Her arms flailed wildly for a moment as stars danced before her eyes and she looked for something to grab onto for support before she realized that, despite what she had been dreaming, she wasn't actually being chased by that farting pig thing from _The Lion King_.

Afraid of what she'd find on the other side of the door, Nat tiptoed silently across the thin carpet and turned the doorknob slowly so it wouldn't creak. With a little yelp that escaped unintentionally, she flung it open and stood staring at the scene that greeted her, gaping.

Hank was there, bright red and virtually steaming with fury, his stance reflecting years of football training and a nearly violent rage. Kurt was next to him, laughing hysterically, even with Hank's huge hand wrapped tightly around the smaller mutant's forearm. At the sight of the open door and Nat's bewildered expression, Hank lifted the smaller mutant by the back of the neck and practically heaved Nightcrawler's unresisting body into Nat's room, where he landed hard and skidded across the rug. Hank turned and stormed down the hallway to his room, muttering something under his breath. Kurt stopped laughing abruptly and stood to rub his aching backside, but started up again when he saw Nat staring at him, her hair disheveled and her sleep-puffy eyes wide with alarm.

"You look like somevun covered _your_ toilet in Reynold's Wrap."

Her hand flew to her mouth, trying to cover the huge grin there. "Omigod! You _didn_'_t_…did you?"

He rubbed his tailbone and winced, plopping himself down cross-legged on the edge of her bed, and knocking her twisted quilts out of his way. "It's a classic, but it still vorks perfectly _every_ time. I think I'll start my _own_ team of superheroes: the Cellophane Brigade! Righting wrongs! Dispensing justice! Pissing people off!" He waved his arms about, battling imaginary foes.

Nat sat down on the old office chair opposite the bed, shaking her head but unable to suppress a little giggle. "Hell, I'd join in a second." She started spinning the chair, watching the walls flash past as if she were on an amusement park ride. "I can't believe you _did_ that. I've never seen Hank mad before. At least, not _really_."  
"_Ja_, vell you should have seen the time I tried it on Rogue. I thought for a vile that the vorld vould never see any little Kurt Wagners, if you know vat I mean."

She stuck out her toe and stopped the chair with a jolt, but the world didn't stop spinning for a moment or two. "Who's Rogue?"

"Oh, somevun at the institute. She's all happiness and sunshine the same vay I'm all seriousness and tranquility, but"—he added, as Nat rolled her eyes good-naturedly—"you'll meet her soon enough."

There was an awkward pause that seemed to swell and fill the room. "Um, yeah," she said softly.

He frowned. "You still vant to come back vith us, right?"

"Yeah," was her strangled, unconvincing reply. She lifted her chin and nodded slowly, but looked him in the eyes when she did it. "Yeah, I really do." Her voice came out clear and strong, surprising them both.

Kurt clapped triumphantly. "Good! Ve can tell the professor after breakfast!" He grinned broadly and leaped up off the bed, spinning his tail in the air and cracking his knuckles. He didn't see the panicky expression that spread across her face, or, if he did, he ignored it. "So get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast! I'm not eating Cheerios because _you_ vere slow."

Nat laughed and tossed a wad of crumpled paper at him from the desktop beside her, which he easily ducked. "What makes you think I want _you_ to be here while I dress?"

His mouth popped open in an indignant little "o", but his eyes glittered brightly. "I take _das_ to be a personal insult, _Fraulein_. To think!" he scampered out the door and down the stairs as if he had tiny trampolines on his soles, like a hyper child. Nat could hear him from all the way down the hall, speaking in a friendly tone that suggested great insult. "A friendly invitation und suddenly I'm a pervert! To think! _Schrecklich_!"

Nat chuckled to herself, squelching that slithery feeling in her stomach. She hadn't faced anyone but Kurt since the tablecloth fiasco the night before, and she wasn't sure how they were going to react. If they were much like her German friend, they hadn't given it a second thought, and the thought filled her with a certain sense of strength.

A few minutes later, jerking her unruly hair into a braid and smoothing her fresh jeans and sweater (a gift from Moira, like all the clothes in her modest wardrobe), Nat tried to put on a smiling face. She noticed herself in the mirror and couldn't help laughing out loud, a sound that was only halfway between mournful and comic, remembering the morning before when the X-Men had arrived in their great metal beast.

"_Ye look like ye've swallowed a lemon…_"

And she headed down for breakfast.

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Downstairs, Moira and Charles were chatting quietly over coffee and raspberry scones that Hank had picked up for them on the mainland. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, filled with those long, comfortable silences that only old friends can have, but Moira's face was pensive. She squeezed her coffee mug in a death-grip.

"I joost don' know what t' do with the lass, Charles. She's a good girl, really she is, but I think she's got more to her than she's willin' t' share."

"I'm sure she does, Moira. Few teenagers will come looking for help if they don't absolutely need it." He tried to lighten her mood with a smile, buttering a second scone and offering it across the table, but she didn't seem to notice.

"She's joost so…emotional. An' secretive."

The professor chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "All she did was set the table ablaze. Trust me. I've had worse."

She glanced down somberly at the doilies on the table. "I'm so sorry tha' she hasnae shown more interest in returning with ye to yuir school, Charles. I was so sure tha' she'd love the idea."

"Think nothing of it, Moira. I won't push her, and I don't think that you should either. Let her make up her own mind. Hopefully, Kurt has been able to get a few more insights into her personality than we have."

"D'ye really think tha' he can persuade her, if she's so convinced to go against the idea?"

"There are few people more persuasive than our resident jokester, despite his eccentricities." Moira glanced out the window at the rocky cliffs, where the seagulls were fighting over something they had found. Professor Xavier patted her hand. "We're here until tomorrow, Moira. And after that, she can always change her mind. We're a mobile bunch: we're used to transport."

Her expression lightened a bit, and a smile escaped. "Ye're right o' course. I'm joost so worried about her…"

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When Nat entered the kitchen, her fuzzy blue security blanket was nowhere to be seen, and she was tempted to dart out of the room and come back later. Scott and Kitty were sitting at the table, eating pancakes, while Jean, dressed in a gaudy pink apron she'd pulled out of some random closet, ladled batter onto a griddle on the stove. The smell was sweet and delicious, but underneath there was a faint odor of charred oak. The ruined table had been replaced by the one that had formerly stood in the dining room, and there was no tablecloth adorning the surface. Nat was beginning to feel a little nauseated.

She cleared her throat, not wanting to approach any of them until they knew damn well that she was coming, lest she startle out one of Scott's eye-beam thingies. Scott and Kitty looked up, but Jean was surrounded by the sounds of sizzling food and her own voice, loudly crooning an old Aerosmith tune that Nat vaguely recognized.

Kitty smiled brightly and flipped her brunette ponytail, pulling the chair beside her out for Nat and gesturing broadly for her to take it. Apparently, she had forgotten _Tiger Beat_ crack of the morning before. _Either that_, Nat thought, _or she's afraid to be roasted alive before she can finish her breakfast_. In front of her, a massive book with tiny print, talking about proton accelerators and quantum mechanics, was open to a page halfway through it, and Nat inwardly withdrew any quips that she'd had of Kitty being stupid.

Nat took the offer and sat down lightly on the edge of the chair. From the stove, between song lyrics, Jean looked up and smiled, flipping her flaming red hair over her shoulder. She waved at the pan with her spatula, wielding it like a pro. "Ya want breakfast? Best pancakes in the world, if I don't say so myself."

Kitty popped a bite into her mouth and chewed it thoroughly, frowning. "You, like, just _did_."

Nat could feel a blush creeping up the back of her neck as she nodded at Jean. "Um…sure, that sounds good."

Jean waggled her fingers in the air as if she were counting. "You can have as many as you'd like. We've got enough for a small army here."

"Oh? Hank hasn't eaten yet?"

The sound that escaped Jean was almost a snort, and made Scott smile hugely. Jean's eyes widened and she smacked her hand over her mouth, embarrassed, as her sort-of-boyfriend turned to her to make some sort of crack. She tossed a dishrag at him, catching him on the shoulder and grinning. "It was funny, okay?"

He raised his hands in the air in a defensive gesture. "Hey, I didn't say anything." He smiled and went back to work on his breakfast, giving Nat a terse little nod before returning to whatever it was that he was reading. She felt her stomach do a little flip-flop.

Nat smiled at her inadvertent ability to make the pretty girl laugh. She thanked Jean quietly when the red-head plopped a plate of hotcakes down on the table in front of her, and started slathering them in syrup. She hadn't realized how hungry she was, but her empty stomach was beginning to remember.

Jean went back to cooking and singing (this time a terribly off-key little number that Nat didn't know). She ate her breakfast, not saying much and getting progressively more uncomfortable. Kitty seemed to pick up on it. She leaned back in her chair and pushed her empty plate aside, pressing her glossed lips together. "So…you got any…hobbies or anything?"

Nat blanked. "Um…yeah, I probably do."

Kitty smiled encouragingly, her narrow eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline. She made a little circling motion with her hand. "Such as…"

_Oh_,_ to hell with it. Isn_'_t honesty always the best approach_? She smiled sheepishly. "I can't remember."

There was a long pause before a gentle smile spread across Kitty's face. She leaned forward, wearing an exaggerated and silly expression, the one her friend Doug called the "annoying psychiatrist" face. "Yeah, it is still kinda, like, _early_ in our relationship to be sharing stuff."

Nat stared at her, not sure what to do with that remark. Kitty let out a little giggle, and Nat let herself do the same, until the two girls were laughing vigorously, neither of them quite sure of he cause.

They were interrupted by a shout. "Comin' through!!!"

Kitty groaned, and Nat looked around, confused. Until, that is, the boy introduced as Evan came tearing into the kitchen on his skateboard, knocking over two chairs in the process and jarring the table.

"Watch it, dorkball!" Kitty screeched, grabbing her teetering milk glass and waving a dismissing hand at him. She shook her head and rolled her eyes at Nat, leaning on her elbows. "I swear, he's, like, _so_ immature."

Nat nodded in agreement, but secretly wished she could grab the skateboard from him and try it out on the kitchen floor. It looked like more fun than Kitty's scary science book.

Evan approached the table with his skateboard in hand, tossing it onto the tabletop before Kitty shrieked crossly. He quickly pulled it off, tossing it under the chair he'd staked out for himself, mumbling "Sheesh," and dropping himself down directly across from Nat. Glancing up from his pancakes, he noticed her sitting there for the first time, and went still as stone, a wad of unchewed food in his cheek.

Through clenched teeth Kitty hissed, "Don't be rude. And swallow every now and then. You look like a squirrel."

Evan swallowed obediently, but didn't even blink. There was an awkward silence, and Nat whispered, "Hi."

The younger boy nodded with a little smile, reaching clumsily across the table for her hand. She took it after a small pause and shook it briefly. "Hi," he said in return.

Just as abruptly as Evan's entrance, Kurt came sashaying in with his hands cupped around his mouth, making a trumpeting noise. "There's no need to fear! The Cellophane Brigade is here!"

Kitty scowled at him. "Does anyone in our household ever make, like, a _normal_ entrance?"

Scott grinned around a mouthful of milk. "Wouldn't bet on it, if I were you."

Kurt blew Kitty a kiss and glided over to the stove. "I'll take three to go, if you don't mind."

Jean frowned, but never looked away from her griddle of hotcakes, not a single one burned. "Why? Where're you going?"

Kurt waggled his blue brows at Nat and smiled. "Natalie and I have a meeting vith the professor."


	10. The First Step to Freakville

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**Chapter Ten: The First Step to Freakville**

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When Jean had refused to let Kurt take his breakfast on the run (there had been mention of something referred to only as the "yogurt incident"), Kurt had reluctantly seated himself at the table with the others. He finished his pancakes in a flurry of syrup and sticky blue fingers, and he and Nat were on their way.

They entered the room quietly, Kurt resisting the desire to whistle and Nat resisting the desire to hyperventilate and fall over. Seeing Nat's expression, Kurt gave her elbow a tiny squeeze as they entered the parlor. Moira was seated on a floral-print sofa sipping at something in a mug, with the professor parked in his chair on the other side of a small tea table. He nodded and smiled when he noticed Nat, and Moira's face instantly brightened.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I vas hoping that ve could have a little chat vith you. May ve come in, please?"

Moira's bobbing head nearly fell off her neck with her emphatic show of agreement as she tried and failed to keep a huge smile from emerging on her lips. The professor nodded only a little, an expression of mild amusement on his face.

Acting as if he were leaning back to close the door behind them, Kurt turned around to Nat and gave her an encouraging glance, whispering, "Come on and smile, _Fraulein_. He isn't going to bite you. I can _just about promise."_

She hissed back, "It's not the _biting_ that concerns me. It's the impromptu psychic lobotomy."

Kurt bit back a grunt of laughter, but smiled innocently and turned to the professor, walking with his hands clasped at the small of his back like a television lawyer, instantly and showily in "Good Boy" mode. Nat noticed a spot of syrup on his shirt, but didn't mention it. He took a seat in one of the two overstuffed easy chairs in good view of both Moira and Professor Xavier, and beckoned for Nat to do the same.

There was an awkward moment of silence, and she got the nasty feeling that Kurt was planning to let _her_ do the talking. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out, leaving her looking slightly like she had forgotten how to breathe.

Luckily, the pause wasn't nearly as long as Nat perceived it, but the professor seemed to understand that _he_ would have to initiate _this_ conversation. He leaned forward, rubbing his chin and twiddling his thumbs, a friendly look in his eye, apparently to put Nat at ease. It was only half working.

"So Natalie, is there something that you wish to say?"

_Yeah_,_ your head is blinding me_, she thought, instantly terrified that he had heard it, but he made no indication that he had. She splashed about in the conversational waters, testing the temperature and at the same time looking for shore. "Um…yeah. I, um, hear that you have a…place." She coughed. "You know, like a school or something?" _Oh, yeah, she privately groaned.__ That sounded brilliant._

Moira looked as if she were about to burst with anticipation.

Professor Xavier nodded and took a sip of his coffee, as if he savored the awkwardness that hung in the room like a physical entity. "I do."

Nat felt the all too familiar heat of a blush creeping up on her, and mentally cursed at herself to stop being such a baby. Her hands, at least, felt normal, and she thanked every god and deity she could think of for that. She glanced away from the professor's intent stare, stammering on. "Well, um, I heard that you'd be willing to…sort of…I don't know, train me there."

Moira dropped her scone in her lap. She laughed sheepishly, and picked it up, dabbing at her lap with a paper napkin.

Xavier nodded again, quietly setting his coffee cup aside on a coaster. Nat stared at the little creamy brown swirls in the cup, just for the sake of looking at something rather than the professor. "And is this something that you are expressing an interest in?"

"Could I, um…ask you some stuff first? Before I make any commitments and all?"

Kurt glanced at her, a little surprised, but the professor remained unfazed. "Of course, Natalie. Ask anything you feel that you need to know."

She licked her lips nervously, her number-one fear glaring at her like a light in the eyes: could she trust him? No one on Muir Island had yet heard about a mysterious school fire in England or a missing teenage mutant, but there was no telling how easily the most powerful telepath in the known universe could gain the information that he wanted. "Would you, like, go into my head? I mean, read my thoughts and stuff?"

Xavier looked a bit taken aback for a moment, but masked any discomfort with a featureless expression. He leaned forward, crossing his hands on the table. "I have been known to engage in therapeutic mental connections with the students under my care, for the purpose of gleaning insight into repressed memories or to provide a spot of guidance, but I assure you that any and all sessions are entirely voluntary. And fully harmless."

"What about…confidential?"

Moira eyed the professor with a little frown, confused and perhaps a bit uneasy. He simply raised his sharp, dark eyebrows, surprised at the shy girl's bluntness, and continued on. "Completely. You can rest assured, Natalie, that any information that may be passed between us would remain private."

Nat nodded slowly, her lips pressed together. "About school. The students…they go to a, um, _normal_ school, right?"

"You would be attending a public school with the other students, yes. I believe that it is vital for all of you—" she noted his inclusion of her in his statement with a strange measure of satisfaction "—to remain in touch with the real world while you are receiving training to control your powers. However, I generally request that you keep your abilities classified at school, simply to regain a level of privacy and safety. This way, the students are somewhat integrated into the reality around them but do not have to feel alienated and alone because of their private dissimilarities from the others. One cannot hope to accept one's gifts and differences simply by pretending that they do not exist."

_I wish…_, Nat thought. She took a deep breath, speaking slowly and carefully, still faintly afraid that she was going to bring up her breakfast. "I think, then, that I would like to come back with you. There's just a few things I need to do round the island, first."

Nat glanced at Kurt for reassurance that she was handling this well, and he winked back at her. Moira was apparently no longer able to contain her joy, and leaped from her chair to rush to Nat's side, locking her in an almost bone-crushing embrace. She said happily into Nat's ear, "Och, I'm so proud o' ye! Ye'll be happy, there, I promise ye, an' it will be so _good_ for ye t' be with some new friends." The scientist caught herself and grinned, moving speedily back to her seat. She sat down like she had just accepted the greatest gift in the world, and beamed about it. She caught the professor's eye and said, "I cannae help it, Charles, I'm joost so _glad_."

Xavier watched Moira skitter merrily around the room, amused and a little surprised, his eyebrows raised. He laughed quietly under his breath, and returned his attention to Nat, who was now smiling softly to herself.

"I take it that you're willing to leave with us in the Blackbird when we go tomorrow?"

She swallowed and started twisting the sleeve of her sweater around her hand, as if this shielded something. _Which_,_ in a way_,_ it does_, the professor thought to himself. She blinked hard and continued, looking troubled. "I didn't realize we'd be leaving so soon…"

Moira jumped to the challenge, eager to finalize the situation in the best way possible and to salve Nat's jittery nerves. "O' course, ye c'n come back t' visit anytime ye wish, lass."

Nat bit the tip of her tongue, thinking hard and mentally whirling. "You mean it? Anytime?"

"Day or night, night or day. Ye're family here now, Natty, an' ye cannae forget tha', even if ye want to."

A great warmth blossomed up within her chest, and she suppressed the urge to burst into happy tears, the first ones that she would have shed in a very long time. "In that case…yes, I think I can be prepared to go by morning." The nagging fear that he'd figure her out was diminishing, but still lingered in her belly like a lead ball. There was no way out of this now, at least not without looking even sillier.

_I_'_ve taken the first step to Freakville_, she thought, almost joyfully. Her innards wriggled in a heady blend of excitement and fear.

"Excellent. We'll be leaving around eleven, so please be ready. Now if you two will excuse us, I believe, Moira, that you wanted to show me the latest phase of your research?"

Moira looked at him blankly, her grin still solidly in place. "Hmm? Oh! 'Tis in my office, Charles. I believe ye know the way. End o' the hall, take the elevator doon."

He nodded, moving back from the table with a faint mechanical hum. Absently, Nat took note of the gleaming metal X's that adorned the wheels of his chair, wondering just how wealthy one had to become before they even _thought_ of buying a customized wheelchair. Moira followed him out the door, grinning from ear to ear.

The door hadn't yet shut all the way behind her when she whipped around, rushing back in and drawing Nat into another strong hug. Nat gasped and laughed as Moira swayed back and forth in glee before releasing her and giving her cheek a motherly little pat, then going back out to follow the professor.

Kurt clapped Nat on the shoulder happily, and she jumped, having almost forgotten that he was there. "_Das_ vas just _wunderbar_, Nat! I think he likes you. You pulled it off vithout even passing out!"

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing." He grabbed her by the forearm and tried to haul her along behind him, but she held her feet steady on the ground.

"Wait. There's something I was sort of wondering, and I guess now's as good a time as any to ask."

"Okay. Shoot."

She looked a little embarrassed. "The professor said that the students at the institute don't _tell_ people that they're mutants, but…. Well, I mean, how can they not _tell_ that you're a mutant? I mean, no offense or anything, but you aren't exactly…subtle looking."

Kurt grinned and pretended to fluff his hair, looking into an imaginary mirror with a laugh. "I've alvays thought that I vas pretty cute, myself."

"Well, yeah, but—" Nat broke off, eyes wide at her own unintentional boldness. Kurt stared at her for a moment, surprised. She made a false little giggling sound, her face and neck bright pink.

He cleared his throat and shrugged, trying to move on, but he was grinning broadly despite himself. "I have a vatch."

She blinked, trying to figure out if she'd heard that correctly. "Huh?"

"A holographic imaging vatch. It projects over my body an image of a less, well, blue and fuzzy person. Unless somevun touches me und feels my skin, novun can really tell the difference."

Nat grinned. "That's incredible! Like one of those fancy shmancy little spy gadgets from James Bond or something!"

"_Ja_, and you should see vat it does for my pecs." He stuck out his chest, looking rather puffy, like a parrot fluffing its feathers. Nat laughed and looped her arm into his companionably.

"You ready to go and pack your things, _Fraulein_?"

"As much as I ever will be."

"Then let's go tell the others so ve can celebrate!" And with a comfortable laugh, they were off.


	11. Tickle Fight!

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**Chapter Eleven: Tickle Fight!**

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The Xavier Institute was an almost incredibly large estate, greenly landscaped with all the trees and plants that could grow on the eastern seaboard, proudly planted and tenderly maintained by Storm. From the air, Nat could see a great pink and white sea of plumb trees in bloom, scattering their petals to the wind to blanket the grass below. Specks of yellow and orange shone from the flower beds along the front walkway. Settled in the center of it all was a fantastic brick mansion, complete with eaves and peaks and grand windows that gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. A swimming pool glittered in all its turquoise glory and a much less inviting, rocky lake took up the far corner of the property, visible from quite far away, and just beyond that was the ocean. Nat's breath caught in her throat at the sight of it all, having never seen the earth from this high up before, and she sat in amazed silence.

Kurt was seated cheerfully in the front seat, guiding the Blackbird and relishing the chance to show Nat his abilities at the controls, while Ororo and the professor, seated in the back of the plane, chatted amiably and oddly knowingly about the weather. In the seat beside the pilot, Evan barked crossly at Kitty as she reached up from behind him and grabbed his Game Boy, turning down the volume knob, only to have Evan turn it back up as soon as she'd returned it. He smirked over his shoulder at her. Behind Nat, Jean had fallen asleep against Scott's shoulder with her hair splayed like a splash of crimson paint against his gray sweater, and his arm was draped protectively over her. The look on his face could be described only as dreamy. 

Kurt swung the Blackbird to the left, approaching the lake and the large artificial waterfall that emptied into it. A vast rush of wind from the jet's underbelly played little patterns on the water below as the Blackbird approached the cliff. Nat was just preparing to scream bloody murder when the waterfall parted at the last second, revealing behind it a long metallic-looking corridor where the Blackbird touched gently down. Her heart pounded in her chest and her body felt numb but exhilarated. She grinned broadly to herself and found that she was practically bouncing on her seat.

Kurt spun around to face her, looking immensely proud of himself. "_Willkommen_, Nat! Ve are here."

Swinging her ponytail, Kitty pushed the button that made the door hiss open, and stalked down the stairs with the batteries to Evan's Game Boy in her back pocket. A very irritated Evan pursued her closely. Jean woke blearily and yawned, looking surprised before Scott smiled at her and offered her his hand. The two didn't even glance in Nat's direction before they followed Evan and Kitty out into the cavernous silver room that served as the Blackbird's hangar, and vanished down the hall. Nat smiled at their departing backs, and heard Kitty snigger in their direction, then the drumming of Storm's feet as she herded her nephew and Kitty away for supper. 

Professor Xavier had remained behind in the cabin, apparently waiting for Nat, and Kurt didn't look like he was going anywhere either. He peered excitedly at Nat, and then at the professor.

"Time for the customary velcoming tour, _Lehrer_?"

Xavier nodded, and the ramp lowered for his chair, Kurt and Nat following him down. Nat couldn't tear her eyes from the high, metallic walls and the floor that looked like it must take a thousand men working all day every day to buffer it into its currently gleaming state. She was almost breathless with anticipation and awe, her thoughts whirling as she tried to take it all in. "After we get something to eat, Kurt. I'm sure Natalie must be hungry after our trip. Then we can show her the house and bring her things to her room."

A restless, slightly discouraged shadow passed over Kurt's face, and Nat leaped at the chance to cheer him up, let alone the opportunity to get a better look at the unbelievable house and grounds. She caught his eye and smiled. "I wouldn't mind waiting a little longer for dinner, Professor. To be honest, I'm a little too excited to eat, and I'd love the chance to take a look round this place."

"I remember the drill, Professor. _Bitte_, you go relax and have some food, and _I_ vill show her around."

Xavier looked at Nat, who was blushing like mad, and wanted to laugh at their utter transparency. "Go ahead, then. Nat, you'll find your bedroom three doors to the right of Rogue's. Kurt can show you where everything else is; he knows his way around as well as I do, perhaps better."

Kurt beamed and clapped his hands. "_Phantastisch_! I vill take you, then!" He grabbed Nat by the wrist, nearly hauling her off her feet as he led her out the door on the far side of the hangar. With a little smile and a shake of his head, Professor Xavier steered himself toward the opposite doorway. Apparently remembering something, he paused for a moment, and Kurt did the same. Nat, bewildered, stood awkwardly aside while she watched, for the first time, as someone received a silent telepathic message.

Kurt flashed his wide white grin and gave the professor a salute. Nat laughed anxiously, suspecting that they were "talking" about her, but not entirely positive. "_Ja_, _ja_! Don't vorry, _Herr_. I know the rules!"

At the end of a long, blue-tiled passageway, Kurt punched in a series of numbers on the keypad at the door of an elevator. "_Eins_,_ neun_, _acht_, _vier_. This veek the access code is _Nineteen Eighty-Four_, after some book that Jean likes."

"I read it once." She shrugged and smiled, locking her hands behind her back where a little pain had developed from sitting so long on the Blackbird. "I couldn't watch television for a month without having nightmares about it watching me in return."

"_Ach_, really? The only book that ever gave me nightmares vas _Green Eggs and Ham_."

Nat rolled her eyes, letting a little puff of disbelieving air out between her lips. "What's so scary about that?"

Kurt's face was completely serious, but his eyes were amused. "Have you _ever_ taken a good look at Sam-I-Am? The little fuzzy guy? Ven I vas verysmall, it vas like looking into a mirror. For veeks, I dreamt that a tiny version of myself vas chasing me and trying to make me eat funny-colored meat." He screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue, making Nat laugh so hard that her lungs protested by not letting any sound come out, and her stomach started to hurt.

Letting her use his elbow for support as she tried valiantly to reclaim her breath, and not looking at _all_ bothered by it, Kurt led her into another hallway that ended with an elevator, which took them the rest of the way to the mansion. By the time they got there, Nat had managed to regain her composure, but was still red in the face from laughing, and seemed to take that as an excuse to lean on Kurt's arm for a few moments longer than was absolutely necessary. When the lift doors opened, Nat was nearly knocked on her rear by the sight that greeted her.

They had apparently been released into another large room, this one very different from the one they had left. Beautifully paneled woodwork ornamented the soaring walls and the immaculate hardwood floor glowed like a Minwax commercial where it wasn't accented with lush oriental carpeting in shades of burgundy and wine. The high windows that she had seen from the sky let sunlight stream inside, and the pillars composed artistic shadows on the floor. A broad marble staircase spouted up from the middle of the room, which Nat now knew to be simply the foyer, and an intricately carved handrail led the way to the top. Large paintings and portraits in heavy gold frames hung on the walls.

"Whoa."

Kurt chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest, apparently pleased at her reaction. "Impressive, isn't it? Ven I came here for the first time, the only place that I had ever seen that vas anything like this vas the train station. And it smelled funny there, so this vas _much_ nicer."

"It…it's like some sort of museum! An _expensive_ one, too. I can't believe you really _live_ here!"

"So do you, if you haven't forgotten."

"I just about had." She walked slowly to the stairs, running her hand lightly over the handrail, almost amazed that it didn't disappear, and actually felt sturdy and cool against her palm. The step was firm under her foot, and she perched herself on the edge, staring wide-eyed around her. "This place is amazing!"

"You'll get used to it. Once you've broken a couple of vindows or knocked over some furniture, it's practically homey. _Komm__ mitt_, und I'll show you around the ground floor."

After showing her the kitchen, dining room, living room, classrooms and library, they had pretty much covered all that was of interest and importance of the educational part of the school. "The professor's office is that room on the right. He's usually in there during the day, and he pretty much lets us go in venever we need to talk to him. Oh, and one of the bathrooms is through the den and there is another down that vay, but there is vun connected to your room so you von't be needing those much."

"We get our own _bathrooms_?!?"

"Ve didn't used to, but it became a necessity. In a house with ten people, you're almost _allowed_ to be a little over-protective of your time. At least if it involves bathroom privileges. The professor probably didn't vant to have to even _think_ about that."

"Don't think I'm rude for asking, but…just how loaded _is_ this guy?" Nat gazed around her, still practically in shock.

Kurt let out a little guffaw and he shook his head, raising his palms to the sky as if he'd been trying to figure that out for a long time. "Novun knows. He just comes from a family vith plenty of_ Geld_, _das__ ist_ all that ve've been able to learn. Now, come upstairs and ve can find your room."

On the second floor, Kurt pointed down the hallway on the left and turned, Nat trailing behind. "Kitty's and Rogue's rooms are down here, so _das_ is vere ve should find your room, _nein_?"

"I'm pretty sure that's what the professor said. Can I meet this Rogue person?"

He shrugged. "She's probably downstairs having dinner vith the others, but ve can check." While he was speaking, he pushed open a door at the end of the hall, and was instantly flung backward to smack sharply against the wall as a pale green blur shot out of the doorway, snarling. Nat jumped and let out a little shriek, but Kurt seemed relatively unsurprised, even pressed up against the wall by the girl's gloved hands.

"How many times do Ah gotta kick you outta mah room for not _knockin__'_, Fuzzball?"

He pushed the girl back, dusting at the front of his shirt. "Relax, Rogue, relax! I vas only coming to—" she noticed Nat for the first time and looked vaguely sheepish "—introduce you to our new student. You know? The vun that Professor Xavier told you vas coming ven he called here a few nights ago from Moira's island?"

"Oh, um, right." She stuck out her hand and Nat took it after only a moment's hesitation, remembering something that Kurt had told her about Rogue's abilities the night before they left Muir Island. Rogue's grip was strong but lasted only a moment, and Nat realized that this girl was probably even less used to human attention than she was. Rogue glanced down at her green and orange pajamas and bare feet, looking slightly embarrassed.

Nat rushed to think of something to ease the awkwardness that hung palpably in the air. "I'm Nat, and I guess I'm sort of…living here with you all now. Sorry to barge in like that. I just…wanted to meet you and all, and I didn't mean to disturb—"

"_You_ ain't gotta be sorry. It wasn't you that came chargin' in like a mad bull without warnin' me first! What if Ah'd been changin' or somethin'?" She shot an angry glare in Kurt's direction. "He does it _all_ the time."

"_So wahr mir Gott helfe_, Rogue! I didn't even know that you vere in there!"

She cocked her head and rested her hands on her hips, but Nat caught something in her eye that was far less than anger. "So you were gonna come in when Ah wasn't there at all?"

The German mutant laughed loudly, waving his hands over his head in surrender. "_Nie__ und nimmer_, I'd never even think of it! Nat vanted to meet you, _das_ is all."

Rogue's eyes narrowed in thought as if she were examining him through a microscope. "Well…okay. But don't do it again!" She turned on her heel and vanished into her room, slamming the door behind her, then opened it again and stuck her pale-skinned face out through the crack. "Nice tah meet you, Nat."

And she disappeared back inside.

Nat and Kurt stood there for a moment in silence, not sure how to react, before Kurt broke the discomfiture with a noisy bellow of laughter. Nat stared at him briefly as he bent over as if the laughter hurt him, his hand on his stomach.

"D-don't vorry about Rogue, Nat. She gets sort of…_cranky_ sometimes."

"I hope I didn't upset her…"

"I doubt it. She vas annoyed vith _me_. Besides, 'upset' is sometimes a relative term, vith _that_ vun." He gave her a crooked little smile. "Now, do you vant to see your room next, or mine?"

She bounced on her toes. "I can see your room?"

Kurt grinned wider and gave her a little shake of his head, as if he was confused. "If you vant to. It's just a room, though, and not even _yours_."

"That's okay. I wouldn't mind seeing how the mighty Nightcrawler spends his time at home."

With a shrug of his narrow shoulders, he led her back past her own bedroom and down a different hallway. When he opened the door and ushered her inside, she stood just inside the doorway, staring. "Wow, this is really nice."

"Anything like you expected?"

"Well…it's awfully _clean_."

Kurt snorted a bit. "I'm not sure vat that's supposed to mean, but okay."

"Hey, turn around."

He frowned. "Huh?"

"I said turn around. I wanna go snooping. You know: go through your drawers, flip through your homework, take a glance in the medicine cabinet…" Nat started strolling toward his desk, swinging her hips as if she were trying to sneak past him. With an artificial shout of outrage, he leaped at her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back and lifting her up off of the ground. She shrieked and tried to swat at his arms, but couldn't do much more to resist when she found herself turned upside down, her hair falling around her face.

"_Nein_,_ nein_! Not the desk! _Das__ ist_ vere I keep all the photos of my girlfriends!" He started to tickle her along the ribs, and soon she was gasping for breath between yelps of laughter, clawing at his shirt as she tried to keep from falling. Kurt, too, was struggling for air, and the two crumpled to the carpet, weak with merriment. He jabbed her once more just above the navel, and almost got them started all over again.

As soon as they had begun to breath normally again, both were painfully aware of the fact that they were lying together on the floor. There was an uncomfortable pause before Kurt got shakily to his feet, offering her his hand to stand up. She took it, and eyed him warily with a sideways glance. He cleared his throat, but neither of them spoke for a long moment.

"I guess ve should go down and see vat they are having for dinner, _nein_?"

She nodded slightly, and the two went down for supper, walking noticeably farther apart on the stairs.


	12. Nighttime Repentance

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**Chapter Twelve: Nighttime Repentance**

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Later that same night, as Nat lay in bed unable to sleep, she started to think. The excitement of the evening was still fresh under her skin, which smelled like Dial and strawberry lotion after her most recent shower, and her exhaustion paired with it to give her an intense case of midnight paranoia.

The slightest sound was cause for alarm at the moment, not at all helpful in her quest for sleep since there was a tree outside her window that kept tapping at the glass. She would get cold, wrap herself in blankets, and be too hot to sleep in just a few minutes, kicking the covers aside in annoyance. Thoughts kept rushing into her head, making her jittery and a bit ill, which wasn't helped by the rapid changes in body temperature, and she was started to fear that she was coming down with another of her fevers.

Nat tried to ignore the fears that always crept back at night.

She was going to get caught, she just knew it. Professor Xavier was undoubtedly going to have to contact someone back in Hawthorne. He simply wasn't the type to involve himself in a kidnapping, and then he'd know all about her and her dirty little secret. After all, she wasn't in the country legally. Neither was Kurt, exactly, but that was easier to explain considering his unique appearance. She, on the other hand, was a normal-looking teenaged girl with a family history, school and medical records and, if things were going the way that she suspected they were, possibly even an arrest warrant on her head. She chewed on her tongue at the thought, and moaned when she tasted something coppery in her mouth, flopping over on her jumpy stomach and pulling the pillow over her head.

And what would happen when he looked into her past and tried to get the records that would keep her here legally?

Nat sniffled. Not even Moira knew, and she was actually considering telling the one man in the world that might be able to help her if only he thought she was _worthy_ of his help? If he thought that she was dangerous, too risky or too much of a damned _liar_ to keep around, would she be sent back? And what would "back" entail, exactly? There was only one way that she could even _try_ to avoid having that happen.

She'd just have to tell him herself. Nat's body went numb with fear at the thought, but she knew that it was what would have to happen if he was ever going to trust her. Her intestines felt as if they were being twisted and pulled in her midsection and she could hear a rushing sound, like wind, in her ears. It was as if someone was there with her, waiting to hear her say it, so she whispered it aloud, just to hear how it sounded on her lips.

"I've got a secret…"

In the darkness of the room, everything that was ahead of her seemed crystal clear, as it always did at night, and she knew that this intensity, this conviction, would be gone by the first light of the upcoming morning. She would be back to privately fearing discovery, feeling nauseated and terrified at the notion but frozen in place when she told herself that she had to do something about it. There had been so many nights back on Muir when she'd thought these very things, but, come morning, hadn't been able to push herself that extra distance that was needed to tell the truth 

_That_'_s _not_ going to happen again_, she thought, silently addressing the ceiling. _I'm not going to let it._

With a deep breath that came back out in a little moan, Nat pushed the blankets aside, carefully laying them on the bed so they'd be warm when she came back to them. She remembered the camping trip at the age of five when her father had taught her how to lay the sleeping bags just right so they stayed the coziest, and felt a lump block up the back of her throat. Her feet hit the cold wooden floor and made her shiver, so she pulled a robe over her nightgown and slipped her feet into a pair of socks from the dresser.

She stood staring at the inside of the door for a few minutes, little voices in the back of her mind telling her to go back to bed, that she was simply being delusional with fatigue, that this was the most foolish thing that she had ever decided to do. She ignored them, and turned the knob.

In the hallway, the house was darker and she couldn't tell where she was headed, so she placed her left hand against the wall to guide her, feeling blind in the suffocating black. After nearly twenty minutes of searching, passing the same incorrect hallway four times, she found the door that Kurt had told her belonged to the Professor's bedroom. Nat could see the shaggy form of a large house plant that tipped off her memory, and she rapped lightly at the door. There was no answer. She tried again, and still got nothing.

With a nervous little sigh, she pushed the bedroom door open slowly, cringing at the sharp creak of a hinge, and peeked her head around the door jam. Inside, there was enough light from the moon pouring in through the windows to see that the bed was empty, and untouched.

With a quiet curse, Nat remembered Kurt's brief mention of the professor's office. Would he really be there this late at night? She glanced at her watch and clicked the little button that made it light up, bathing her face in a tiny circle of dim blue light. It was half past midnight, earlier than she thought. Sighing, she set out for the office, finding the staircase relatively easily and stumbling her way down. She paused at the bottom, her feet shuffling back and forth. Which way was it again?

In the end, she simply picked a direction and took it, following a hallway down to the library, which she _did_ remember. _Well, at least that_'_s something_, Nat thought. She turned and backtracked a bit, finding herself confronted by a door that looked very familiar. She knocked, harder than at the bedroom door because she wasn't afraid of waking him in there. When there was no response, and she eyed something she had noticed. There was a keypad on the left hand side of the door, and she paused a moment, trying to remember if she had seen a keypad on the door of the professor's office, or even if she had actually _seen_ the office at all or only _heard_ about it from Kurt. There was so much to remember about all that she had seen, that it was a jumble. She chewed her lip, trying to remember what the code had been, and smiled despite herself.

"_Green Eggs and Ham_. Hmm. _Eins_,_ neun_,_ acht_,_ vier._" A laugh escaped her, and the door slid open with a hiss.

The room inside was black, not a single window or lamp to guide her, but there was a quiet humming sound in the background, like giant fans or a distant car's engine. Still, desperate to find Xavier before she lost her nerve, she slipped inside and whispered, "Professor? Are you in here?"

With a rush of air the door slid shut behind her, and she jumped.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed eerily, and a chill ran through her bones at the thought that she had somehow made it back to the Blackbird's big metal hangar and was trapped behind the waterfall until she could figure out what to do next.

A series of crashes somewhere in the dark, and a voice that she couldn't make out, made her scream, and call out in a tremulous voice, "Hello? Professor Xavier, are you there?"

The voice shouted again, and this time she heard it more clearly, a muffled voice, deep and masculine, and very commanding. "Get down, kid, before ya get creamed!"

There was a loud noise coming straight for her, and she was amazed that she hadn't heard it more clearly before: a mechanical sounding whir that was moving forward quickly. Something was here, and it was coming. She started to tremble. "W-what's going on? Who's there?"

"Just get down and stay down, now!" Terrified, Nat dropped to her knees, covering her head with her arms, trying to back up so she could find the wall, a desperate attempt to seek out a light switch.

The "something" whizzed past her, and she screamed again, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling her body grow cold with fear, her knees pressed tightly against her chest. "What's happening? Where are you? _Who_ are you?"

There was an enormous smashing sound, and the clatter and clang of metal on metal. Whatever had been coming was no longer on its path with her, and she heard the screeching sound of something tearing across the floor as it skidded to a stop, striking the wall and making the entire room vibrate.

A large hand came down out of nowhere, clamping down on her wrist and hauling her to her feet. "Computer, lights!" Lights flickered on from somewhere above, pooling down brightly around her. A few feet away, what looked like a large piece of machinery was whirring and buzzing, wicked looking blades spinning in the air. Its gutted wires had been pulled out and lay haphazardly on the metal floor. A short, muscular man with wild dark hair had her arm tightly restrained.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" Her captor shook her wrist, and she started to shiver, her entire frame shaking on her feet.

"Well? What's goin' on?"

"N-nothing! I mean, n-not really! I was just looking for the professor's office, and I came in here, and it was so dark that I couldn't see, but I could hear, because there were sounds—crashes and machines!—and—"

He shook her again, harder this time. "Knock it off, kid! What are ya doin' in the Danger Room by yourself?"

Nat blinked. "The…_what_?"

The man stared at her for a moment, a pair of gleaming blades sheathing themselves in the backs of his hands. Nat gulped. She remembered something Kurt had told her earlier: this must be Logan, better known simply as Wolverine. The sweat that glistened on his forehead gathering in the clenched creases there, but, slowly, a tiny smile of amusement played at the corner of his mouth. "Were ya wanderin' around or somethin'? Ya wanna tell me why ya thought it was a good idea to go pokin' yer nose in mysterious rooms late at night? I'm guessing you're the new kid, right?"

She nodded. "L-like I said before, I was just looking for the professor, and…I thought that this might be…well, his office." She looked sheepishly into the man's hairy face, and continued, quieter. "I'm guessing it's not."

A deep grumble of a laugh escaped from his broad chest. "Not last time I checked. This is the Danger Room." He wiped his face on the back of his hand. "Ya know, it's kinda late, so if ya _really_ needed to talk to the prof, ya might check the man's bedroom."

She shook her head. "I did. He wasn't there. So I came down here…"

"Yeah, ya explained that part already."

"What's a Danger Room?"

"I thought I was askin' _you_ the questions."

She shrugged. "Okay."

"I'm…done."

"So what's a Danger Room?"

He raised his hands vaguely in the air, indicating the walls around him. "This place. It's a trainin' room, of sorts. Kinda like a gym, only here you're more likely to, well, die."

Her eyes widened. "Whoa."

"Ya could say that. Now, did ya want me to show ya where to find the prof?"

Nat felt suddenly dizzy and faint, remembering what she had set out to do in the first place. She paused for a moment before she nodded tersely, and when she spoke her voice sounded pinched and very young. "Yes, please."

"This way, then," he said, leaving the so-called "Danger Room" behind. She looked back over her shoulder and followed him, seeing the twisted hunk of metal, that she could easily imagine decapitating her, on the floor. Nat shivered and continued with Wolverine down the hall.

He led her only a little bit farther down the corridor, probably only five or six doors away, and stopped with his arms folded in a threatening way. He rapped on the door and called out, "Charles, you in there? Ya got a visitor."

The professor's voice answered back, "Thank you, Logan," and the burly man nodded at thin air and gave her a quick little glance before he turned, disappearing again down the hall. She saw a tiny orange light flare up as he lit a cigar, and then he was gone from view completely.

When Nat heard the professor's voice again, it sounded oddly like an echo, and it took her a moment to realize, with a start, that it was echoing within her own skull. "_Come in, please, Natalie_."

Shaking all over again, almost as badly as she had in the Danger Room, Nat pushed open the door (which was a simple wooden one _without_ a keypad) and entered the professor's office. He greeted her warmly, and she came in slowly, looking around. The room was dimly lit by a fire on the hearth and a small green desk lamp, just enough light to work by. The professor was at his desk with a laptop opened in front of him, his hands still poised on the keys. He was dressed in a dark green bathrobe and had a plaid blanket draped over his lap. With a friendly smile, he pulled out from behind the desk and came forward, beckoning for her to take a seat before he returned to his desk. The laptop was snapped shut and put aside.

"How can I help you, Natalie?"

She bit her bottom lip, staring over his shoulder at the painting of a young woman with eyes that looked a lot like his own. She glanced down at her lap, all of her carefully decided speeches forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"I have something to tell you, Professor."


	13. Toothpaste Afflictions

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"Once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it's hard to get it back in."  
-_H.R. Haldeman_

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**Chapter Thirteen: Toothpaste Afflictions**

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The world had never looked so large, so vast and reeling and ready to open up to swallow her. Across the desk, the professor sat and listened, his face still. Nat could see the firm, determined set of his jaw, the crease in his lowered brow and the glint in his eye. His hands were folded neatly, unmoving, his elbows propped on the edge of the table.

Nat sat in the high-backed chair, feeling the cool leather seat through her clothes and clutching her nightgown-covered knees. Her knuckles whitened. She let her feet twitter back and forth on the carpet, but kept her spine straight and rigid, staring back at the professor's motionless face. Part of her wanted to burst into tears, and another wanted to flee as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her. There was no way to back out now. It was all up to fate, once again.

There was a long moment of silence after Nat had finished speaking, and she was starting to wonder when he was going to get to it and kick her out. Xavier took a deep breath, licking his lips and clicking the cap onto his pen before placing it aside. "Well. This does raise some rather unforeseen problems, doesn't it? I must admit, this isn't what I was hoping to hear from you."

She twisted her hands in her lap, and found that she could still not look directly into his eyes. Instead, she stared into those of the painting of the woman (his mother?), before it began to blur through a screen of tears. "I-I just had to tell you, before you found out on your own. I didn't mean to wait this long before I told anyone, really. On the…the island, I tried so many times to tell Moira—" Her voice broke off, and she dropped her gaze to her feet. She breathed in deeply, shakily, and continued, her voice wavering under the weight of her words. "I'll…understand if you want me to go. I can get my things, and…"

The professor pulled away from the desk, approaching her in his chair, until he was next to her. When he spoke, his voice was once again replaced by that strange echoing one, inside her head, and she jumped at the realization that he was in her mind again. Suddenly, her own skull felt crowded, like a bathroom shared by sisters, their feet pressed against every tile on the floor, too many hands on the countertops.

"_Relax_,_ Natalie_."

"_C-can you hear my thoughts_?"

"_I can, and I think that it_'_s time you shared your secret with me_."

She started when she understood what he meant, a dreadful fear welling up within her. "_I already told you! Why do you need to_—"

There was a strange feeling pressing down, like warm fingers on her brain, and the voice grew closer, more insistent, but somehow kind. Her real eyes could see the professor's intently staring face not far away, but her inside eyes could see him everywhere. "_I_'_m not going to hurt you…I just need to see what happened that night_…"

Like water slowly rushing in, it seemed to be too much to fight against, his gently seeking mental tendrils probing at her memory. The voice went from invader to unconscious comfort, like a strange embrace, and she felt herself giving in to it. "_I-I can_'_t remember everything_…"

"_Whatever you can remember is fine. Just concentrate_."

And it was as if the world had exploded in Nat's face. There were flashing colors, a screaming wind in her ears, and she began to backpedal in terror, her hands flailing in the air and her throat cramping, making her unable to cry out. She scrambled in her chair, feet kicking helplessly at the floor, before she started to recognize the shapes and sounds rushing past, relaxing slightly but still breathing hard. The professor's voice was soft and tender in the background, and through his constant mental coaxing she began to make out the figures of people she knew, places that she had been.

Nat quite clearly saw her cousin, the boy who had made the time spent at her aunt's house a living hell with his taunting and tormenting. She could feel the cool autumn air blowing in through the window at her grandfather's house, tousling her hair, and the cliffs on Muir Island where the birds fought over bits of fish and seaweed. Seated on the edge of her bed, she was listening to the ghost stories that her father used to tell, then crying when they buried her pet cat, Muncie. There were buildings she had only passed on the street, books she hadn't read in years, and jokes she hadn't understood when she'd first heard them. Wrong answers on math tests, long-forgotten childhood games and favorite songs playing on the radio rushed by her. Present and past fused together, nothing behind or ahead, nothing happening at the right moment because it all seemed to be happening at once.

And then they had arrived at _that_ night. Nat tried to back away, to return to those happier memories, even the ones about Muncie or cousin Jason calling her "freak", but the professor's focus was astounding. It was as if he were beside her, within her and above her all at once, and there were two Nats playing out the story under his watchful gaze. There was the Nat who was living it, the girl with the sick feeling in her stomach and the terror of discovery, and the Nat who was watching it all over again, unable to suppress the same feelings in her own body. The past had caught up with her, quite literally.

She could feel the agony of seeing Lily go down, although she had to admit that it didn't look so bad this time, and the white-hot glare in Morgan's eyes as she raised that accusatory finger in Nat's direction. There was the slapping of her heels on the ground as she fled, the spray of leaves and twigs that showered her, and the sting of salty tears on her cheeks.

"_Thank you_,_ Natalie_…"

As suddenly as it had begun, it ended, and Nat was back in her chair in the professor's office, staring up into his face. He looked oddly serene, but the set of his square jaw hadn't melted away. 

"I'm sorry. I know that wasn't something that you were anticipating, but there was no way to explain it before you had experienced a mental connection of your own." He smiled faintly, apologetically.

"But…why did you need to _see_ that? I told you what happened, and I wasn't going to lie about anything, I swear!"

"I know that positively now, but one can never be too sure." Her eyes were downcast, dark curls looping around her paled face, and Xavier rushed to mend his words, placing a hand on her shoulder in his best imitation of a soothing manner. His voice was soft when he spoke again. "I never intended to harbor any mistrust against you. It's difficult to clarify, Natalie, but I had to make sure that you were telling me the complete truth, that all of it was accidental, before I proposed my plan."

"Plan?" A sick fear, and a painfully curious excitement, was building in her chest.

He paused, glancing at her sideways as he flipped open his laptop, staring at the screen as if for inspiration. Nat absently noticed the large "X" on the background of the screen, holding her breath as she waited apprehensively for him to continue. He rubbed his hands together. "I cannot simply keep you here without _attempting_ to get in touch with anyone that might be trying to get into contact with you. Doing so could potentially put _all_ of us in more trouble than you know. The institute must remain a very private place, for obvious reasons."

Nat felt her heart contract, but Xavier continued, unabated. "But I also refuse to simply hand you over to the authorities, knowing that, although you are responsible for the events of that night, you committed no intentional crime. Although their intentions in punishing you would be good ones, they would not be able to understand that night as I now do."

Her voice was tiny and frightened, her shoulders slumped. "How can you do both?"

His nostrils flared in thought, his chest rising as he inhaled deeply. "There is a good possibility that I could…make myself involved with the investigation that is undoubtedly underway. If we could show the _truth _to the girls who witnessed what happened, rather than simply the tail-end of the attack—please forgive me for labeling it that, but it is likely how they saw it—there is a chance that they could be persuaded to _retell_ what they know. I have dealt with matters such as this before."

"What…what if they don't? Change their stories, I mean?" Her head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton and marijuana smoke. New thoughts seemed to get caught, and they struggled to make their way all the way through her brain, stifling her responses but stirring up confusion and a dull fear.

"They will."

Nat frowned, not sure what to think of this turn of the conversation. "How can you be so sure?"

"I know more than you may think about how the human mind works. I can show them that you are innocent of causing _deliberate_ harm, probably enough to clear you of calculated wrongdoing."

"Wha-what'll happen to me then?"

He wheeled himself to the door, opening it for her and allowing her to step into the darkened hallway. He followed her out, and they approached the stairs that would take her upstairs to her room. "I can manage with the rest. Try not to let it bother you too much, and get a good night's sleep. I'll do a little research about what happened to you, and we can discuss this more in the morning. I'll tell the others not to wake you."

Nat watched him, eyes wide and once again threatening to spill hot tears, but she clenched her teeth and nodded brusquely. "Thank you, Professor Xavier. I don't know how to say how much your help means to me…"

He smiled warmly, rubbing his temple as if it hurt him and shooing her toward her room with the other hand. "Good night, now." Nat stepped up onto the stairs, wriggling her toes through her socks on the cool marble floor.

"Oh, and Natalie?"

Turning back to him, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to hold back a sniffle. "Yeah?"

"You need not worry about me telling anyone in the household. Your secret is safe with me for as long as you wish to keep it."

Nat smiled, looking enormously grateful. "I'd appreciate that, Professor. I guess I'm not quite finished with secrets yet. And Professor?" She had made it halfway up the broad staircase before she paused, smiling down over her shoulder at him. "Thanks again."


	14. A Plan of Action

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**Chapter Fourteen: A Plan of Action**

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The next morning saw Nat awaken after only a few hours of fretful sleep, despite her most valiant efforts to obey the professor's request that she get a good night's rest. A piercing blade of sunlight came streaming through the window and across her pillow, temporarily blinding her when she opened her eyes. She yawned widely and stretched, pressing her toes firmly against the footboard.

The events of the night before didn't fully return to her for a few seconds, and in that time she was able to enjoy lying in the big, plush bed. As soon as she remembered what Xavier had said about talking more in the morning, she started to feel a little queasy, but despite her nervousness, there was a certain sense of peace, of satisfaction even, at having told the professor. He had taken it amazingly well, and she was grateful for that. _After all_, she thought, _I could have ended up homeless in a country where I pretty much don_'_t exist, so I guess __that's _something_ to be happy about._

She showered and dressed quickly, and set off down the stairs before she could make up another reason to hesitate. From the foyer, she could hear the sounds of people convivially eating and chatting, and she glanced over at the grandfather clock, which read 7:19. Surprised that she had apparently risen before the others had to leave for school, she made her way into the dining room, where most of the household had congregated at the promise of food.

The other students were gathered around the table, dining on cold cereal and toast. Jean was frantically reading out of a history text book, having "forgotten" to finish her reading the night before, and Scott was leaning over her shoulder to get a better look, sipping on a glass of grape juice. Evan was staring off into space, looking tired, and Kitty was chattering away with Logan and Storm. The latter looked intensely interested in what the younger girl was saying, but the former was eyeing her wearily with an expression of slight annoyance. He jabbed his spoon into a bite of food, chewing it savagely and turning away rather than listening. Kitty didn't notice, but it gave Logan the opportunity to spot Nat standing in the doorway.

"Welcome to the world of the livin', Sleepin' Beauty."

Nat smiled faintly, stepping into the room and taking the first chair that was offered to her, which just happened to be between Kurt and Rogue. Kurt grinned at her a little awkwardly, and Nat recalled the little incident in his room the evening before, her blush returning full force. Kurt turned back to his food, and Nat was able to breathe a little easier when Rogue caught her attention. The fair-skinned girl, dressed in black and green including her ever-present gloves, was frowning slightly, but her expression was relatively friendly.

"The prof said you'd be sleepin' late. Whatcha doin' up at this time a' day?"

Nat shrugged. "I guess I'm just not used to the time change yet."

Rogue nodded and passed the pitcher of juice. "Well, you might wanna get yourself a little somethin' to eat before it's all gone. A few Saturdays ago Ah got up an hour late and there wasn't even any bread in the pantry."

Broken from conversation with Storm, Kitty rolled her eyes. "Would you, like, quit _talking_ about that! It's not like _you _don'teat, or something. Besides, we had to go shopping anyway."

Rogue ignored the younger girl and gave Nat a bowl. "Trust me on this one. Fill 'er up."

Nat grinned and accepted the dish, reaching across the table for the family-sized box of Shredded Wheat. Kurt, munching loudly, reached for the same box and they paused, each with a hand on the package, waiting for the other to do something. There was a brief hesitation, and they each tugged on a different corner of the box, assuming that the other had let it go, and when the box didn't budge they both put it back down. A few chairs down, Kitty snickered and elbowed Rogue in the ribs, gesturing down the table at Nat and Kurt, awkwardly grappling over the cereal.

With a goofy smile, Kurt shrugged and handed Nat the box, shaking his head a little. Nat laughed slightly, filling her bowl and passing it back to Kurt so he could do the same. Kitty, trying to keep quiet, wasn't able to suppress the snorty little giggle that escaped her, and even Rogue looked as if she had softened a little at the sight. Logan just rolled her eyes. Evan watched, too, not particularly interested but trying to discern why this was of any concern to him.

Entirely unaware that they were the topic of so much interest, and trying to gloss over the uneasiness, Nat chewed slowly and searched her brain for conversation. "So…you all have school today, right?"

Kurt swallowed a bite of toast and nodded. "_Ja_, but ve should be back around three, so you von't be here alone for too long" —he gestured over his shoulder and leaned toward her as if he were attempting to keep his words private, but the jocular tone never left him, and he didn't even try to lower his voice— "vith the old people."

"Watch it, Elf," Logan growled, and Nat stifled a snigger with the palm of her hand, almost spraying Kurt with grape juice. She started to choke, and he slapped her lightly on the back, leaving her to smile sheepishly and turn pink from more than just coughing.

"When do you think I'll be able to come with you?" As soon as the words had left her lips, she regretted them. Obviously, Kurt wouldn't yet know about the plan that the professor had hatched, and wouldn't know how long it would take to implement. Still, it seemed to be safe ground, and Nat was hoping that she wouldn't have to wait long before she was able to accompany the others to Bayville High. Deep down, she was still apprehensive at the prospect, but she was beginning to suspect that _anyone_ would be nervous about starting their life all over in an unfamiliar place. Besides, it wasn't as if she would be alone this time: this time she had friends, companions anyway, so this time she wasn't just a freak. Well, she was still a freak, but at least she wasn't _alone_ with the label.

Kurt shrugged. "A week or so, I vould suppose. The professor's pretty quick about this sort of thing. I think he knows how to…speed up the process, somehow."

Nat felt her own head nodding, not really a part of her. "Yeah, I get the impression that he's pretty…influential?"

Something in her tone made Kurt laugh. "_Ja_, you could say that."

Nat glanced down at her lap, not sure how to continue, a thousand questions lingering and dying in her mouth. She started playing with her spoon, drawing tiny milk swirls on the edge of her napkin. Kurt went on to chatter about the current state of affairs at school, from bad cafeteria food to his late library books, with Nat listening with distracted half-interest.

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Professor Xavier sighed and pushed the computer screen away, rubbing his tired eyes. He had slept little after his chat with Natalie the night before, too engrossed in his new project to bother with rest, and the neglect was creeping up on him. _Nothing like the sleep patterns of the young to infringe on the comfort of the middle-aged_, he thought to himself. Luckily, he had managed to get some work done, and they were just a little closer to resolving the problem back in England. He had arranged a meeting with the detective who was directing the investigation, and had done a bit of research to boot.

There had been nine direct witnesses to the incident between Nat and Lily the night of the fire, and four of them, in addition to Lily, were able to say that they had seen Nat burn the other girl's face, although none of them were able to say exactly how. From the reports that were available to the public, as well as a few that were more confidential, the professor had learned that there was no evidence that Nat had started the fire, except for Lily's claims that she'd seen Nat outside smoking a few hours before. Xavier had been pleased and more than a little relieved at this: with only the circumstantial evidence of one angry young girl's assertion, there was little chance that Nat would be able to be pinned with the punishment.

The professor knew that Nat was slowly being consumed by this. He had seen it so many times before. She had done nothing intentionally, but the fear and shame of causing so much harm was a heavy weight on anyone's heart, let alone that of an insecure teenaged girl. It was going to have to be _her_ memories, not just his own careful manipulations, that he would use to show the girls what had happened that night, Xavier was sure, or she would never be able to forgive herself.

The necessary paperwork had been filed to get access to Nat's school and medical records, and he was in the process of working through the more arduous task of getting her legal transfer to the States. He had friends in high places, and the citizenship problem was much more easily solved for him than for most. It had come in quite handy with Kurt, who had no record of existence in Germany, or anywhere else for that matter, until he had come to the institute. Occasionally, the professor felt a little guilty of his sporadic use of his acquaintances in Washington and its countless bureaucracies, but there were special circumstances where his students were concerned, and he was more than willing to press his connections into service if it was for the right cause.

Xavier rubbed his eyes again, stifling a yawn, and sent out a mental call. "_Natalie…would you please come to my office immediately? We have much to discuss._" He once again felt her shock at receiving a psychic message, and smiled slightly to himself. That was always so disconcerting to the students before they'd gotten used to it.

Several minutes later, Nat had knocked on his door and was seated in the high-backed, leather-upholstered chair, looking rather nervous. Her cheeks were a bit pale and her hands twisted in her lap, but he no longer picked up that terrible spike of fear that she had formerly emitted in his presence.

"Thank you for coming, Natalie. Did you sleep well?"

"As well as I have in a while."

Xavier smiled, nodding to himself in understanding. He pushed back from the desk but leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands on the desktop. "You'll get used to the time change soon enough."

Nat shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

There was a long pause. "Have you given any more thought to what we spoke of last night?"

"It's practically all I've been _able_ to think about." She rolled her eyes and sighed, giving him a crooked little smile.

"Understandable," Xavier began with a chuckle, "but I think it's all going to turn out better than you fear."

"I certainly hope so." The hands began twisting harder. "Have you…have you been able to find out anything?

The professor pulled away from the desk and wheeled himself around to the table that stood by the door, pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher that waited there. He fixed one for Nat, and brought it back, handing it to her in silence, relatively unaware of how frightened she was becoming with each passing, unspoken second. "There isn't much to report that I wasn't expecting. I am working on getting you legal rights to be in the country, which should pass in a week or two, and we can get you enrolled in classes as soon as that clears."

Nat blinked widely, surprised, her forgotten water glass shaking slightly in her hand. "Is it really that fast?"

"Not usually, but in this case there are, shall we say, extenuating circumstances."

"What about…you know, what _happened_?"

He took a deep breath, ready to recount his entire findings but reconsidering at the last moment. "There were witnesses, as you know, but not many of them are able to say that they saw anything. There also isn't any proof that you had anything to do with the fire in the building, so that should be fairly easy to clear up. The damaged areas of the school are being reconstructed, and I am seriously considering a donation to aid in the rebuilding."

Nat gasped. "You don't have to do that! I mean, this is _my_ problem, and I'm unbelievably thankful for your help, but that _really_ isn't your responsibility."

Xavier smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry, Natalie. There is no better resource for money than the education of young people, and if I can help get a school running again, the pennies and dimes aren't really my concern."

"But…is that…" Nat's voice faded away, and the professor continued as if she hadn't spoken. She couldn't help wonder if it was the school's welfare or her own that was his real focus, but she was too self-conscious about insulting him to voice her suspicions.

"The most important part is going to be your cooperation. I need you to come with me back to England to talk with the detectives regarding your case. I have a meeting with the man in charge three days from today. We should leave tomorrow if we are going to have enough time to get into contact with the girls who saw you that night."

The feeling of dread that flooded through Nat's veins was unexplainable. Her limbs went heavy, her blood cold, and her hands were tingling like mad. She rubbed them together firmly, as if she were trying to scratch an itch, and the burning began to fade. Her throat was dry, and when she tried to speak her voice came out in a strangled whisper, unable to form any coherent words.

Xavier went on, in that echoing, internal voice that was becoming less and less frightening each time Nat heard it. "_There shouldn_'_t be any problems_,_ Natalie_,_ but I need you to go with me. As a gesture of good faith_,_ if nothing else._"

Her eyes went wide. "What if they want to _keep_ me there? What if you're not able to convince them that I didn't do it on purpose?"

"_Getting involved in an investigation is a little unorthodox_,_ I am fully aware_,_ but it is for the best. We are going to contact the girls who saw you that night, and I_'_m sure they can be psychically persuaded that what you did was unintentional_,_ that you shouldn't be punished too harshly for it. I have abilities you know nothing of._"

"The girls? The _witnesses_? Professor, you don't understand! Most of them hated me even before they had any good reason to, and this whole _thing_ definitely hasn't helped any."

He raised a hand to calm her, swinging his head back and forth emphatically. "It isn't as cut and dry as that, Natalie. This can be managed. You simply have to trust me, and my methods, and we can get everything back under control."


	15. Duty

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"I slept and dreamed that life was beauty.

I awoke—and found that life was duty."

-_Ellen Stugis Hooper_

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**Chapter Fifteen: Duty**

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With Logan at the Blackbird's controls and the professor working on his computer beside her, Nat had nothing more to do than stare out the windows. Reading had long before been proven impossible, mostly because she had trouble keeping her attention on the page for more than thirty seconds at a time. The beauty of the cold, steel-gray ocean water below was all but lost on her. She was so deeply immersed in thoughts of the upcoming day that the world could have exploded and she would hardly have noticed. Professor Xavier had been able to find out how to reach the five girls with whom they would have to get into contact to pull off his plan, and they would be at their primary destination in less than an hour. How Xavier had managed to find the girls and convince their parents to let him speak to them was a mystery to her, but she was pretty sure that none of them knew _she_ was coming. Nat's stomach was a dull knot of pain.

Logan's gruff voice shook her from her daydreaming within half an hour. "We're just about there, Chuck. Where d'ya want me to take 'er down?"

The professor looked up, setting his computer back into his briefcase. "Find somewhere relatively secluded, of course, but not too distant from Miss Stewart's residence."

"Gotcha. There's some fields not far outta town. I'll take 'er there."

Nat started, an iciness spreading through her middle. "Stewart? Did you say _Stewart_?"

Logan was ignoring both of them, but Xavier nodded distantly. "Yes. She is perhaps the most important player in your little drama, I'm sure you agree."

"Professor…can't we…start with somebody else? Please, I don't think I can handle this yet." Her face was ashen, her eyes besieged with fear.

Xavier sighed. _Once we get through today, the rest will be easy_, he told himself, as if trying to comfort a child. He shook his head, trying to keep his expression unyielding, but he felt a twinge of regret. She wasn't going to be very happy with him by the time the day was over, but that would all be an unavoidable repercussion of what had to be done. "I'm sorry, Natalie, but we've come all this way and we have to get started somewhere. We're going to begin here and move on to the next girl after lunch."

The professor was watching Nat out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction. Her vivid green eyes dropped, staring at her lap. Her breath was shallow and quick as if she were about to cry, but she clenched her teeth and took several deep swallows of air, raising her head and holding her jaw up stiffly. She was an emotional girl, he had already learned, and he found himself strangely proud of her lack of tears in this trying moment. She nodded. "Okay."

An hour or so later, two of the travelers exited the gleaming black vehicle that the professor had rented, and made their way up the pebbly pathway to the Stewarts' home, the professor's chair being pushed by Logan. The dark-haired man rapped confidently on the polished, honey-colored front door, and they waited patiently for a response. Back at the car, Nat was kneeling on the back seat, clutching the headrest and staring at the house through the back window. She watched as the door opened, and the men were ushered inside the house by a small-boned woman in a gray silk blouse and tweed trousers. She looked just like her daughter. Nat had always thought so.

She flopped back onto her rear, closing her eyes to wait for the professor's call.

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"Please make yourselves comfortable, Professor Xavier, Mr. Logan. Would you like something to drink? Coffee or tea, perhaps?"

Logan responded with a curt, "Nothin' here." The professor's reply was a bit less rough, but also requesting nothing. Ms. Stewart shrugged and sat down on the couch, Logan dropping himself onto an armchair and resting one booted foot on the opposite knee. Xavier parked his chair across from Ms. Stewart, whose expression was polite but nervous.

"I'm so glad you were able to come all this way just to speak to my daughter. She's had such a hard time dealing with all of this…"

Xavier waved a dismissive hand, flashing his best parent-comforting smile, the one that suggested honesty, responsibility and a great deal of trust. "Think nothing of it, Ms. Stewart. I work with young people after traumatic experiences quite often. I have a good amount of experience."

The tiny woman stood, dusting her knees with her palms. She gestured feebly at the staircase. "Lily's up in her bedroom. Would you like me to get her for you?"

"Yes, please. I would like to get started as quickly as possible. Oh, and Ms. Stewart? There is a student of mine that Lily may wish to meet. She's in the car, and I don't think that she should come in just yet, but if Lily wishes to meet her, is she permitted to come in?"

"Of course! Anything that you think will be helpful." She paused, looking sadly down at her feet with a slight shudder. "Lily's had a very tough time the past year or so, and the fire didn't help at all. In the week since she got back from the hospital, she's been so sullen. With the school gone, I'm out of a job until it can be rebuilt, and on top of that, we lost her father about eight months ago. He was killed in a run-in with one of those muties—" Logan snorted quietly at this, but Xavier did no more than raise an eyebrow a millimeter or two "—and ever since the…incident…she's been having terrible nightmares." She shook her head, lost in thought.

_This may be more difficult than I thought_, Xavier mused. Ms. Stewart nodded and started up the stairs. When she disappeared at the top, Logan glanced at the professor.

"Were ya expectin' that?"

Xavier shook his head. "Not particularly." He took in a deep breath. "We can work around it."

Ms. Stewart came back down with a thin, strawberry-blonde girl just a bit younger than Nat close behind her. Her pale hair was loose and fell around her face in a thin, gauzy veil as she entered the living room, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to look directly at the professor. She sat down in silence on the edge of the couch, chewing on her bottom lip. There were fresh pink lines running along her throat, and a patch of scar tissue that covered one cheek.

There was a long moment of quiet before Professor Xavier decided to begin, searching his brain for the right way to begin this conversation. _Best to try the direct approach_, he thought, folding his hands across his lap. "I hear that you've been having a rather unpleasant year, Lily."

"You've heard correctly, sir, but I don't see why you've come so far just to talk to me about that."

"Lily!" Ms. Stewart hissed under her breath, looking surprised.

Professor Xavier glanced at the girl's mother, shaking his head. "It's perfectly all right. Ms. Stewart, If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Lily alone. Logan, would you give us a moment as well?"

The other man nodded, and Lily's mother led him to the kitchen, where she would finally be able to serve one of her guests some tea. She walked with tiny, rapid steps, her movements jerky and tense.

Alone in the room with the girl, Xavier turned to her and smiled. "Thank you for your willingness to speak with me. I don't think you will regret this meeting."

She looked up at him, watery gray eyes blazing. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't say that you're right."

He took a deep breath and released it with a sigh. "I assume this isn't your first interaction with a psychologist."

Lily squeezed her lips together. She cocked her head to one side. "Hardly."

"Well, there are different things to be discussed today."

"What does _that_ mean?" Her steely eyes narrowed as if she were trying to look through him, past his cool outer expression. He watched her in return, his face as unmoving as her own.

"You have every right to be suspicious. This isn't the same kind of meeting that you've had before, I can guarantee that." Silently, he was calling out for Nat.

Nat, in the meantime, was beginning to panic. He was asking her to come, and there were only so many actions that she could take: she could listen to the professor and go into the house, or ignore him and stay in the car. There was always the good old standby of taking off down the street as fast as her feet could carry her, but somehow she didn't think that would work. Nat gulped and got out of the car, jumping at the loud sound of the door slamming behind her. She walked up the front walkway on wobbly knees, and slipped into the house as silently as she could. From the living room, she could make out familiar voices, so she started that way. She stood quietly in the doorway, waiting to be asked in, her stomach churning. The professor noticed her and nodded slightly, but mentally told her to stay where she was.

Lily was staring at the professor, eyes wide and face frightened. "You weren't there! You don't know _what_ I saw!"

"Unfortunately, neither do you." He shook his head, but Lily was pinned under his steady blue gaze. Her eyebrows lowered and her lips were held in a taut red line.

"I know _exactly_ what I saw."

"Do you really? Natalie—" Lily's face went white, and she spun around to the place where the professor's gaze had fallen, but Xavier didn't pause "—would you come in, please?"

Lily tried to say something, her mouth opening and closing like that of a fish on land, letting only a little squeaking sound escape her throat. She jumped to her feet, swaying a little and trying to make her way around the coffee table. "Wh-what is _she_ doing here? Why are you here, you little freak? Mum! _Mu_—"

Powered by sheer adrenaline, Nat made her way across the room in three large steps, grabbing Lily by the wrists and pulling her onto the couch. The smaller girl was too frightened to struggle, and went rather limp, crumpling into a seated position beside Nat. There was no response from the other room. Nat was still grasping her wrists as hard as she could, afraid to let go, but Lily tried to wrench them away and gave her a furious glare. 

"D-don't scream, please, Lily!" She was terrified of the shrill, panicky sound in her own voice, and unable to look away from the raw pink flesh, the missing skin of Lily's cheek and wounded throat.

"How _dare_ you come here? After what you _did_!" Her voice quivered, either from anger or fear, Nat wasn't sure which.

"I didn't mean to, Lily, I swear. I was just—"

Professor Xavier broke her off. "Knock it off, both of you. We'll never be able to speak civilly if you're arguing. Nat, let go of Lily, and Lily, please try to remain calm."

Surprised by the tone of command in Xavier's voice, both girls fell silent. Nat slowly released Lily's wrists, leaving white marks on her skin. Lily continued to glare at her, and Nat tried to tear her eyes away from the other girl's battered face, staring instead at the professor's shoulder. He nodded at them and went on.

"Thank you. That will make this much easier. Now, Lily, what do you remember about the last night that you saw Nat?"

"What do you _think_ I remember? I remember being mercilessly _attacked_! Well, congratulations, Fairbanks! Take a good long look at your handiwork." She threw her arms open wide, jutting her chin forward, the whites of her eyes showing all the way around. Nat shivered and tried not to stare, a great wave of anguish rising up within her.

She pulled away, dropping her head into her hands, a sob welling up within her. "Oh, God, Lily I'm so sorry…"

"You damned well ought to be! You're going to pay for this, I can promise you that. And don't you cry, you terrible little monster, 'cause you've got no right to it! You're not the one with the bloody _scars_!" Lily's hand struck out before either girl expected it, slapping across the back of Nat's neck. Nat shrank away, making no effort to block the blows.

As suddenly as she had begun, Lily fell silent, her hands dropping to her sides like wilted flower stems. Her face was sallow with alarm, and the professor's echoing voice filled their heads. Lily scrambled away to the other end of the couch, pale eyes wide with fear. Nat wiped the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve.

"_You know less about what happened that night than you think you do_,_ Lily…_"

Lily let out a low moan. "How…how are you doing that?"

"_Just trust me_,_ and I can show you what you need to know. If you relax_,_ I won't have to do anything but show you the way_,_ and let you figure it out for yourself._"

"Knock it off. Stop! Just get out of my head!" Her hands came up to tangle in her hair, wide eyes distressed and horror-bright. Tears had begun to flow. Nat choked on her own breath, feeling the emotions in the room double. She was feeling Lily, and Lily was feeling her.

"Stop it! I want you to burn in hell, the both of you. Get _out_!"

There was anger, a huge, boiling, seething anger that writhed in the air and blotted out the light of the sun, most of it spiraling out from Lily's mind, with a coil of Nat's own fury snaking out between them. Fear and pain were close behind it, immeasurably stronger, a heavy, wet, weighted pressure that choked and smothered. Nat's regret sailed out across this thick gray ocean, and she held it against her breast like a baby, presenting it for Lily to see.

And they were back at that night, Lily taunting and Nat burning within and without, neither sure what was happening, a glowing ball of insecurity hovering between them. They heard and felt and saw that night, beside themselves and in themselves and somehow beside and in each other. Both screamed, both taunted, both lost control and ran away.

With a desperate little sob, they fell from the past and landed hard in the present, beside one another on the couch, faces wet with tears and throats tight with sorrow. Their hands were pressed tightly together, fingers intertwined.

Nat swallowed hard, staring at Lily's glittering gray eyes. "Do you see? Do you understand…"

The other girl nodded slowly, unable to speak for a long while. She rubbed Nat's fingers, remembering what it had felt like to have them burn, the torture that the other girl had experienced. "I…I understand." She looked away. "Still, I don't think I can forgive you."

Cautiously, Nat reached forward and traced the scar along Lily's jaw with a fingertip. Lily went stiff but didn't pull away. Nat whispered, "I don't want you to forgive me. Not yet. Not until _I_ do. But I _am_ sorry. I'd give anything to take it back."

"So would I." Her gray eyes met Nat's intense, bottle-colored ones. "But now I know you didn't intend to do it."

"Does that mean…" Nat tried not to look too hopeful. Lily nodded.

Her voice caught in her throat, getting trapped there for a moment before she managed to sputter it out. "I'll tell the detectives that you didn't…do it on purpose."

Nat's eyes filled with happy tears. "Thank you, Lily."

Lily got to her shaking feet, her face rigid again, sneering. "Don't get all mushy and disgusting on me, freak. This doesn't make us _friends_ or anything. I'd do just about anything to take what you did and do it back to you, but I won't, because I know I wouldn't get away with it. And you had better be damn happy that you _are _getting off." She walked to the stairs, pausing halfway up and turning. "I swear to God, if I ever see you around here again I'll sing so loud about you, mutie, that you'll spend the rest of your life under a microscope in some lab."

Slowly, a smile began to creep around Nat's lips. "It's a deal."


	16. Starting Over by the Flagpole

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**Chapter Sixteen: Starting Over by the Flagpole**

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Nat's stomach felt hollow, a drum with its leather skin pulled too tight. For the eighth or ninth time, she glanced at the glowing green face of the clock on the bedside table and, always finding it only a few minutes later than the last time she had checked, stood to examine herself in the mirror. _Reasonably presentable_, she concluded, brushing a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and smoothing the front of her pale pink sweater. Jean had dug up a pair of tiny, glittering, rose-colored barrettes that adorned the dark hair falling over Nat's temples, and Kitty had helped her put together a small but adequate makeup bag. As silly as it sounded, Nat felt very grown up, and ready to start a new life, in her form-fitting sweater and a smear or two of lip gloss. Squashing down a little bubble of anxiety, she hoisted her new bag over her shoulder and headed down to meet the others.

In the two weeks since she and the professor had returned from England, she'd gone through every emotion she could name, as well as a few that were pretty much foreign to her and may or may not have been simply the products of exhaustion and mental fatigue. At first she had been thrilled by the success of their trip, which in a matter of days left her drained and utterly weak. This had quickly passed into a dull haze of numbness and nightmares, a little anger for a small number of hours, followed by almost a week of tears. Some were of joy, some of sadness, and more than a few of confusion. To make it worse, she hadn't felt ready to talk to Kurt or any of the other students about what had happened, seeing as how they still thought she had gone back to England to deal with the issue of her citizenship. Finally, just when she was beginning to feel a little better, Professor Xavier had sprung something fresh on her: school enrollment, which, of course, was the source of her current jumpy nerves.

When she reached the foyer, Scott and Jean were just exiting the house. Jean waved and Scott gave her a little nod of his head as the door slipped shut behind them, leaving Nat to feel vaguely regretful that she wouldn't be able to see them again until later.

"Hey, Nat! Wait for me!"

Nat turned and saw Kitty springing down the staircase, a stack of books as wide as her slender body perched on her hip. The younger girl flashed a wide, white-toothed smile and took hold of Nat's sleeve, steering her toward the living room and chattering happily.

"This is going to be so, like, fabulous! I can show you where everything is, and the best places to eat lunch around town, and the coolest people to hang out with, and—"

"Oh, please, as if _you_ know what you're talkin' about." Rogue, sitting cross-legged on the couch with the television remote balanced on her knee, rolled her eyes and gave Kitty a dismissive wave. Some bizarre Japanese cartoon, all flashing colors and obscure subtitles, was blaring across the screen. Beside Rogue, Evan was pretty much ignoring the arguing girls, trying to gobble down a bowl of Lucky Charms before "Auntie O" could come in and tell him to take it into the dining room.

"Whatcha watching?" Nat settled herself on the carpet at Evan's feet, and he smiled at her around a massive bite of cereal, a bit of milk dribbling down his chin. He caught it with his sleeve and looked sheepish.

"Something with lots of robots and big explosions. It's pretty good."

Still engrossed in her own project of annoying Rogue, Kitty tossed her books onto a chair and bent down over the older girl, hands on her hips, intentionally blocking the TV screen. "I know more about the lives of _social_ people than you do, Miss 'Sit-Inside-and-Read-Vampire-Novels-in-the-Middle-of-the-Day'."

"Get outta the way, you little mall rat, or Ah _swear_!" Rogue swung at Kitty's shoulder in a good-natured swipe with the remote, which passed harmlessly through Kitty's suddenly wispy, insubstantial body. Kitty crossed her arms and grinned, waggling the fingers of her right hand in the air. She giggled and reached down to the floor, hauling a laughing Nat to her feet.

"Oh, never mind! Nat, let's leave the Infantile Twins alone with their cartoons and bad attitudes. _We've_ got better things to do." She made her way back up the stairs, Nat all but stumbling along behind her up the stairs, and Kitty glancing over her shoulder to stick her tongue out at Rogue.

"Let's go see if Kurt's up. He's, like, _always_ late if we don't do something about it." She watched Nat out the corner of her eye, trying not to sigh at the almost embarrassing blush spreading across the other's cheeks. Kitty flicked her ponytail back and, to Nat's rapidly fleeting horror, phased her head through Kurt's bedroom door. She reappeared a few seconds later, looking perfectly calm with not a hair on her head disheveled. Nat blinked hard a few times, unsure of how to react. _I guess this is still going to take a little getting used to_, she thought.

"He's in bed. Of course. So, let's wake him up!" Kitty gave an evil grin and rubbed her palms together like a villain in a bad melodrama, Nat almost expecting her to start twisting an imaginary mustache around her little finger.

"Okay!" The enthusiasm in her voice was unintended, and she giggled nervously when Kitty gave her an odd look. "That is…I mean…if _you_ really want to…"

With a roll of her large blue eyes, Kitty grabbed her wrist again and gave an annoyed shake of her head. There was an odd tingling sensation that spread through Nat's body, and she subdued a gasp of terror as they shot forward suddenly, finding themselves inexplicably on the other side of the door. Kitty looked quite bored, but the expression on Nat's face was enough to leave the ponytailed girl trying desperately not to burst into a jolt laughter.

Nat glanced around, getting a tiny, sick pleasure out of being in Kurt's room without his knowing it. Warm April sunlight streamed in through the curtains and played across the beige carpeting, bathing the room in a bright yellow radiance that somehow reminded Nat of the forest. A chandelier sparkled on the ceiling high overhead, but somehow the room kept its homey feel. A stereo was playing softly from the corner and lightning bolts were flashing across the screen of the computer on his desk, which was scattered with school books, magazines and an assortment of burned CDs. Apparently, Kurt's tidiness came and went as if with the tides. An enormous bed stood with its headboard against one wall, and on it a huge mound of blankets and pillows obscured a humanoid shape smothered beneath. Two long, lean, blue legs stuck out at an awkward angle from underneath the sheets.

Kitty tiptoed around the side of the bed, snickering, and jerked her head at Nat to indicate that she should do the same. Nat, unsure of exactly what was going on, leaned over the lump that she assumed was Kurt's upper body, and eased the covers back, biting her tongue to keep from laughing at the sight that greeted her.

Kurt was sprawled face-down across the mattress, his cheek squashed unattractively against a pillow and his hair terribly unkempt. His limbs were lost in a tangle of knotted quilts, his tail wrapped around the bedpost as if he were using it to hang on for dear life. A thick copy of a hardback book (something in German that neither girl recognized) was under his torso, jabbing him in a way that didn't seem like it could be at all comfortable. He shifted and rolled onto his back when Kitty jerked the book out from under him and tossed it unceremoniously onto the dresser.

Stifling a torrent of giggles with her hand, Nat glanced up at Kitty, who looked mildly amused but not at all surprised. Moving slowly, Kitty placed her hands on either side of Kurt's head, pressing ever so slightly on the mattress. Kitty paused and Kurt stirred, wrinkling his nose as if to scratch an itch, but when he didn't open his eyes she continued her light pressure. Soon, she was mere inches away from his face, holding perfectly still. Nat's heart had gone dead in her chest with anticipation.

"Wake uuuup!" Kitty howled suddenly, bouncing up and down on the mattress, making Nat jump and yelp in fright. Kurt's reaction was even more delicious, and he was sent shooting out of bed, a look of unadulterated horror on his face. To Kitty's delight, Kurt vanished in a puff of thin, pink smoke, and when Nat glanced around in shock she found him hanging upside-down by his feet from the chandelier. At this point, he no longer looked terribly surprised, only faintly pleased, which Nat wasn't sure how to interpret.

He smiled crookedly, his tangled hair hanging like a fan from his inverted head, and let his body flip backward so his hands replaced his feet in their grip, and dropped with a quiet rustling to the mattress below. "You're getting better at that, Kitty."

Nat's eyes were huge, her mouth an open circle of surprise. "Wh-whoa! That was _awesome_! I had no idea you were such a great gymnast."

Kitty sighed, turning on her heel and heading out the door, her task apparently completed. "Don't get too excited, Nat. Trust me, as soon as he thinks you _enjoy_ it, you'll be getting, like, the morning, afternoon and evening shows."

Cupping his hand around his mouth, Kurt shouted after her, "Don't pretend you don't _love_ it, _Liebchen_!"

He laughed and turned to Nat, scratching his head and yawning. "I hope _das__ ist nicht_ a new custom for the two of you." He grinned and winked as he walked past her into the bathroom, shutting the door most of the way but leaving it open enough that they could still talk while he brushed his teeth and hair. "Othervise, _this_ elf may need to get a lock put on his door."

Nat chuckled a little, raising her voice over the sound of running water. "Would that really help? I mean, Kitty…"

He spat his toothpaste into the sink and rinsed with a bit of mouthwash. She heard him slap the countertop, and he stuck his head out through the door, pretending to frown. He snapped his fingers in the air with a little flourish of mock exasperation, making Nat chuckle. "_Verflucht_! I knew there vas a problem vith that plan…"

Neatly combed and quickly dressed, he exited the bathroom, dusting his hands together. "Vell, I'm not _too_ late, am I?"

Nat flopped down on the edge of his bed, bouncing a little. She started flipping through the pages of the book that Kurt had been sleeping on, all of it a blur of incomprehensible ink smudges. She glanced up from the book and bit back a gasp of terror at the sight of a stranger standing before her. It was, of course, Kurt. His eyes were "normal"-colored, his skin flesh-toned and smooth with hands and feet hidden behind a peach-colored veil. Her eyes practically bugged out of her head when she realized what was going on.

She pointed at him, temporarily at a loss for words. "H-how…? Is that 'cause of that watch thingie you told me about?"

He laughed, pretending to preen in the mirror. "Not bad, _nein_?"

"Not at all!" He laughed again, less smoothly this time. "I was just surprised to see you…like that. I mean…you look…different. Not in a bad way, really…only…well, different."

There was a long pause, neither quite able to think of something to say.

She cleared her throat uneasily. "So. You ready to go now?"

"_Ja_. _Komm__ mitt_!" He grinned, pushing a pile of books off his desk and into his backpack, tossing the strap onto his shoulder. He linked his arm through hers and switched off the bedroom light, the two heading for the stairs together.

On the front porch, which was wide and pillared, Kitty, Rogue and Evan made their way to the garage. Rogue, muttering to herself, was going to drive them to school, and seemed none too pleased with her assigned chore. Kurt, on the other hand, was happily jangling his own keys in his pocket, eating a bagel as quickly as he could. "Sorry, Nat, but my car's not exactly vorking at the moment. Do you vant to go vith Rogue and the others? Or vat do you say to a nice valk? It's not too far."

Nat shrugged, trying to squelch a funny butterfly-feeling twittering around her insides. "Sounds good to me. What's wrong with your car?"

Kurt grinned with a hangdog expression. "I had a little accident vith a stubborn tree."

She groaned. "Ouch!"

"Vell, okay, then! Go go go!" He waved his hands at her backside, shuffling her down the walkway with a hoot of laughter.

By the time they made it to Bayville High, they were easily half an hour tardy, but neither was too worried about it. Nat figured that she wasn't going to get into trouble for being late on her first day, and Kurt didn't seem bothered by it anyway. They had stopped for coffee as they walked, and Nat tossed her mostly-empty cup into a trash bin as they entered the tall glass doors. There was no way to claim that she had simply gotten lost on her way if there was evidence that proved she'd been lingering at a coffee house instead.

The halls were lengthy and open, windows perched high on the walls letting sunlight brighten the linoleum flooring and the rows of gleaming blue lockers. There were still a few students loitering outside of classroom doors, talking and ignoring the clock that beckoned them to class, but they scattered at the sight of a tall, thin woman in a business suit clattering toward them on sharp-toed pumps. Beside her, Nat felt Kurt's frame go rigid, and when she glanced at him his jaw was set, his eyes cold. _Ms. Darkholme_, Nat thought, an inexplicable shiver running through her. She had been told about the principal of Bayville being a less-than-friendly mutant acquaintance of the X-Men, but before seeing the intimidating woman she hadn't let the idea trouble her.

Now, it was as if her blood had been sucked out, iced, and poured back into her veins with a funnel. The woman's face was pointed and lean, looking pale against her dark hair, her spine straight and unyielding. Her lips were drawn into a tight, heart-shaped blot of red, and her eyebrows were thin black lines above the frames of her glasses.

To Nat's horror, Ms. Darkholme noticed the two young mutants standing together by the entrance, and came click-clacking over to them, her thin arms folded over her chest. She looked considerably less than pleased, and stopped in front of them. Nat felt the urge to turn and flee, but pressed it down within her. Kurt, on the other hand, was looking almost defiant, his chin held upright and his light-colored eyes flashing.

"Don't you think that the two of you ought to be in class?"

Kurt said nothing, just looked at the woman with a cool expression. Nat swallowed, getting the impression that Ms. Darkholme was a bit more than just an acquaintance. "It-it's my first day, ma'am." Beside her, she felt Kurt's eyes flicker over her, irritated, and she wanted to whimper at the unaccustomed feeling of being the source of his displeasure.

Ms. Darkholme's lips curled into a delighted smile, and she placed a slim hand on Nat's shoulder, drawing her closer. Kurt was pushed out of their new little circle, but Nat was led toward the door of the office. "Than I suppose you're Natalie Fairbanks. Come with me, young lady, and we can get to know one another a bit better."

She could feel Kurt watching her, and glanced over her shoulder. He mouthed, "Be careful," and she nodded. There was a terrible nausea welling up within her, but she couldn't help but feel comforted by the fact that Kurt wouldn't have left her alone in a situation that he didn't think she could handle. Nat clenched her teeth and balled her hands into tight fists, ready to sit back and take whatever needed to be taken.

The door to the office slipped closed behind her and she jumped slightly, nervously taking in her new surroundings. It was a neatly furnished room that reminded her strangely of the way Kurt's bedroom was decorated, only with a colder, sparser feel, softened only by a number of leafy houseplants that made lacy shadows on the floor. A heavily polished wooden desk sat like a crouching beast beneath the windows, and Ms. Darkholme seated herself silently behind it, nodding Nat into a chair opposite herself.

The older woman folded her hands on the desk blotter, leaning forward with a thin smirk gracing her penciled lips. "Welcome to Bayville High, Miss Fairbanks. The professor faxed me your academic records and all the necessary paperwork just last night, and I have been _eagerly_ awaiting your arrival ever since." Somehow, she managed to say all this with as little sincerity as possible without sounding outwardly hostile. Nat shivered, and watched Ms. Darkholme stand, staring out the window with her hands clasped behind her back. "And I'm quite sure that he has also told you that you are to behave properly around here."

"Y-yes ma'am, he certainly has." She wiped her damp hands on the thighs of her khakis.

Making Nat go cold, Ms. Darkholme whipped back around and leaned forward, bracing her knuckles on the desktop. "Then you realize, of course, that class begins precisely at half after eight, not a minute earlier or later."

Nat gulped, forcing the lump in her throat down into her stomach. She was beginning to get the definite impression that she was being watched very closely. "Definitely, Ms. Darkholme. I'm very sorry, and it won't happen again."

"See to it that it doesn't." Slowly, the principal of Bayville High crossed her arms over her chest, sneering down at Nat as if she were a creepy-crawly thing inching across her desk rather than a terrified teenaged girl. "Now. Don't you have a history class to be attending?"

Nat leaped to her feet, trying to mask her fervor to escape with a false desire to get to class. "Yes, ma'am!"

She fled on winged feet, Ms. Darkholme shaking her head behind her. Out in the hall, she jumped slightly as a movement by the library doors caught her attention, but smiled when she recognized the familiar puff of smoke from which Kurt, now an olive-skinned teenager, emerged. He gestured for her to come over, and she ignored the thought that Ms. Darkholme may still be watching them, racing over to him.

"Sorry to leave you alone like that to deal vith her," he said, shaking his head apologetically. Nat placed a hand on his shoulder and grinned.

"Don't worry about it. Just show me where I can find—" she glanced down at the schedule in her hand "—Jameson's history class, and you can make it up to me by walking me home this afternoon."

His sad expression melted instantly. "_Wunderbar_! _Das__ ist_ the vay." He beckoned down a hallway, but rolled his eyes at some memory. "I had Jameson last semester. Vatch out for Thursday morning quizzes. They're her specialty."

Nat laughed, the cold encounter with Ms. Darkholme almost forgotten. Something still troubled her, though. "Kurt?"

He paused in front of the door that was apparently their destination, his hand on the knob. "_Ja_?"

She bit her bottom lip, remembering Kurt's strange reaction to Ms. Darkholme. He was usually so affable, even to people who were not so to him (her own original rude encounter with him was still fresh in her mind) but he had seemed so easily irritated by the appearance of the dark-haired woman in gray. "What have you all got against Darkholme?"

Kurt's eyebrow, now against fair skin rather than indigo, raised. "Didn't the prof tell you about her?"

"Yeah. I mean, sort of. I know she isn't exactly one of the good guys, so to speak, and she really isn't very friendly, but…well, you seemed almost _angry_ at her."

There was a long silence in which Kurt looked very occupied with the task of peeling a sticker off the side of a nearby locker. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but he met her eyes firmly. "I have some…issues to vork out vith Raven Darkholme."

Nat was quiet, not sure how to take that but too surprised by his reaction to press for further details. Suddenly, Kurt let out a huge sigh and turned around to her, his expression somber but not annoyed, at least not at her. "She's _mein__ Mutter_, Nat. My mother."

She felt her eyes widen, her mouth open in astonishment. Kurt glanced at her, waiting for her to respond, and all she could do was sputter out, "Oh."

"I guess I should have told you before now."

She turned away, and for a moment he thought he saw the tiniest traces of a tear glimmering in the corner of her eye. _Is she angry_?_ Scared_?_ Why should she be_? The thoughts were pushed quickly aside, and the sound of her voice a few moments later almost surprised him.

"Don't worry, Kurt. We all have our secrets."

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of just what was going on, but entirely sure that he didn't want to be the one that upset her. Gently, he put his arm around her shoulder, and she turned her head back to him and smiled, her eyes slightly red.

"I'll meet you by the flagpole at one for lunch, okay?"

He smiled slowly, squeezing her shoulder once before he let go and opened the door. "_Ja_, Nat. The flagpole at one."


	17. The Friendliest of Enemies, the Kindest ...

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**Chapter Seventeen: The Friendliest of Enemies, the Kindest of Friends**

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Long before one o'clock rolled around, Nat found herself staring out any available window to see if she could spot the flagpole from whatever vantage point she had at the moment. When she actually _could_, through the window above her desk in the calculus room, her heart began to thud with anticipation. It wasn't the promise of lunch or even the break from the trauma of new classes that excited her, but the chance to see Kurt again. Over the past few days, even as she fiercely fought down the urge to tell him everything about her past, present and future, she had been having more and more fun just _being_ with him.

She hadn't had many friends growing up, not since she'd hit puberty, at least, and knowing, for the first time, that she could talk about her powers or even _use_ her powers in the presence of one of her peers was thrilling. It was the same feeling she had experienced at Muir Island with Hank and Moira, but this was better, infinitely more satisfying. It was the thing that people were talking about when they used the word "elation", Nat was sure of it.

By the time the mechanical-sounding bell jingled to release the students from fourth period, Nat was practically writhing in her orange plastic seat with the restlessness of a person who would much rather be somewhere else. Halfway out the door, she heard a voice call her name. She considered pretending that she hadn't heard, but reluctantly turned to face the speaker, who had been sitting in the far corner of the room.

A tall, athletic boy with shockingly light-colored hair stood behind her, smiling crookedly. He carried an air of confidence that was almost disturbing in its intensity, but his smile was friendly enough, if not a bit too self-assured. With an unnerving jerk, Nat realized where she recognized him from: this was one of the students that the professor had told her about, one of Ms. Darkholme's _personally_-trained pupils. Nat almost dropped her books at the shock of seeing him, and he gave her a peculiarly amused sideways glance.

He stepped closer, only a desk separating the two of them now. Nat nervously looked up to find the teacher, not really expecting anything to come of it, and noted desolately that she was now alone in the room with him. "So you're a student at Xavier's little institute."

An obscure irritation flared up inside her chest, but she nodded. "Yeah." She cocked her head to the side and looped her thumbs through the straps of her backpack, trying to look tough. "But _you_ certainly aren't."

The boy—"Pietro Maximoff", Nat remembered—stared back at her coolly with a funny little smirk. "No, I'm not. What do you mean by saying it like _that_? Trying to sound like a hard-ass?"

_Um_,_ yeah_, she thought, but replied only, "Of course not." She felt herself blush, and shrugged. "Well, not specifically." Nat tried to put her thoughts into some semblance of order: this was one of the guys that she'd been told to look out for, but as of yet he hadn't done anything that would normally worry her. Could she risk a conversation with him? So far, no one except the other students at the Institute had even tried to speak to her with more than a "Hi," or a "Nice to meet you." The feeling of isolation was not a new one to Nat, but at the same time…here was a perfectly normal-looking, even _popular_-looking guy, speaking to _her_ of all people.

"I thought I'd take the opportunity to welcome you to Bayville." He offered one cordial, long-fingered hand, which she took and clasped briefly, letting go as quickly as mild courtesy would allow. His words were a rapid flood spilling over his tongue in a tone that was more than a little arrogant.

"Well, then…thank you. Really, though, I ought to be go—"

"Do I detect an accent?" He tossed his backpack onto a desk, sitting backward in the chair and propping his feet comfortably on the seat behind him, apparently settling down for a conversation. _Nat's_ feet, on the other hand, itched to be moving quickly away to find Kurt, but she was a bit nervous about upsetting this strange young man with any apparent rudeness.

"Yes, I suppose you probably do. I'm from England."

"Do you drink tea?"

She paused, blinking as if to flush the surprise out of her eyes. "Um, yeah, sometimes…"

"What about English muffins? They got those there?" The look on his face was entertainingly serious.

Nat snorted out a funny-sounding laugh. "They aren't _called_ that, but yes."

"That's good. I like those things. They cook fast."

She scratched the inside of her elbow awkwardly, and figured that this was as good a time as any to try to make her escape. "Well, it was nice meeting you to discuss breakfast foods and all, but I'm supposed to meet someone for—"

"I like your sweater. Looks really good." He leaned forward with his chin propped on his hand and raised one white eyebrow, smiling darkly as if to say that he was hinting at something entirely different. _That's what he's saying, but it's _not_ what he means_, a tiny voice told her internally, and realization slowly lit Nat's eyes. Her cheeks flared in embarrassed delight, a mixture of horror and pleasure rushing between her ears like water.

She tried to speak, but it came out in a broken stutter. "Th-thank you. Yours is nice, too. But not like mine, of course. I mean, because yours is a guy's sweater, and mine isn't. Obviously. I wasn't…saying that it was."

He smirked at her, grabbing his pack and swinging it back over her shoulder. "Shall we walk and talk?"

Nat shrugged, not sure how else to react. "I guess so," she said softly.

As they made their way to the door, he paused for a moment and stepped in front of her, regarding her closely. "So, what made you decide to stay with those X-Geeks?"

Nat's mouth popped open, her brows knitting together. "What do you mean by that?"

"There's an _infinite_ amount that you could be doing with your talents, if you were in the right setting. That is, if you didn't let that bald-headed old man and his stifling moral duty garbage get in your way. If you could only _see_ that, you'd never waste your time there, and you'd consider taking…other offers."

She gaped at him, surprised at the hasty breath of words that spilled from his mouth. "W-what are you _talking_ about?"

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. _You_ could be someone, someone with allies who have real _strength_, not just words and promises. Xavier only wants those sickeningly sweet little goody-goodies with nothin' better to do than fight his fight _for_ him, and try to change the world."

"And just what's wrong with trying to change the world, if there's something that _ought_ to be changed?"

"Nothin', if that's all you're doing. But that _institute_ place only sucks the soul outta you. Careful, or you'll turn into another of Xavier's toy soldiers. There are other opportunities out there, Nat, and if _I _were in your position I'd be grasping at straws right about now." He slapped his palms together, as if his point had been made and no other could argue. "What's so attractive about those pious little brats, anyway?"

Now, this white-haired boy didn't seem nearly as sociable, attractive or appealing. The blush in her cheeks turned to one of intense exasperation. "Well, they _rarely_ go around saying things about others when they don't know what they're talking about." She pushed past him to get to the door, not turning around to gauge his reaction, and stormed out into the hall feeling immensely proud of herself.

Nat glanced down at her watch and gasped, breaking into a gallop and almost slamming into several groups of students on her way. She was already fifteen minutes late for lunch with Kurt, and terrified at the idea that he might get tired of waiting for her and decide to eat with someone else.

By the time she made it to the flagpole, she was panting slightly and a little too warm. She saw Kurt sitting on a bench, munching on a sandwich and flipping through a psychology book, and she breathed out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Hey! Hey, Kurt!" He glanced up and smiled, waving her over and patting the bench beside him. She approached him beaming, trying to push the strange, haunting meeting with Pietro out of her mind, and tossed her bag down on the pavement beside the bench. She straddled the wooden seat and tipped her head back to drink in the warm sunshine, closing her eyes so it could slip across her eyelids and bathe her eyes in a red glow.

Pietro's words were a shadow that seemed to hover between her and the sky like a tangible cloud, blotting out the sun. He had offered to let her join his group, she was quite sure of that, but had she been wise to turn him down so soon? She could never betray Kurt, or the professor, not after they had shown her such incredible kindness. Still, she was left in the dark almost completely about why she was supposed to fear these other mutants so much, and it irritated her that she was expected to go along with them if they were unwilling to tell her just what she was going _against. She'd been told that they were dangerous, that they were on the side for mutant liberation and conquest of the rest of humanity. Of course, there had been times when she had dreamed about such things, and passed them off as fancy…_

Kurt watched her with a strange intensity, a small smile twitching on his lips. "I vas beginning to think you had forgotten all about me, _Liebchen_."

Nat laughed, looking up. "Oh, _no_! How could I do a thing like that?"

He shrugged and glanced down at his book, still smiling slightly, and a faint stirring of fear was twisting in her stomach. Had he seen her speaking to Pietro? Should she say something about it? She quickly abandoned the idea as silliness. Pietro may have been a little annoying and egotistical, but he hadn't done anything but toss about a few insults that didn't really need to be repeated. Besides, it wouldn't do for Kurt to think that she was leaning anywhere toward Darkholme's students, if only to save him from the difficulty of having to think about his mother. Nat felt cold.

_Oh_,_ God_,_ I'm sorry. No more even _thinking_ about those others and their group. I could never leave the institute. Not now_,_ or ever_, _not after what they've done for me..._

Nat pulled her bag into her lap and started fishing through it for her lunch, pulling out the paper sack that she'd flung together that morning when she realized that she'd saved none of her money to buy food. Her insides still wriggling, she bit delicately at her apple but held the rest in her hand, to be eaten when hunger caught up with her rattled nerves.

"Tomorrow, ve can join Kitty and Doug at the shopping center for lunch, if they vill let us. They go every Tuesday."

She chewed at a bite of fruit, staring as if fascinated at the ragged hole her teeth had torn in the tender red skin. "Who's that?"

"Doug Ramsey. A friend of Kitty's. He has a car but it's his parent's, so he doesn't get to use it much every day. They alvays go out on Tuesdays to take advantage of the chance." He slapped his book closed and shoved it into his pack, folding his arms and leaning back as Nat had done, letting the sky warm him gently.

An idea was starting to form in the back of her mind, a tiny embryo of thought that was almost too trivial, let alone sensitive, to be spoken aloud. Nat's tongue lashed forward despite the desperate little struggle of her brain. "When will your car be fixed so…_we_ can go out for lunch?"

He glanced at her quickly, surprise etched across his features before it melted into his smooth cheeks (which were still oddly flesh-colored). He struggled to mask the strong smile tugging on his lips, but succeeded only in looking rather silly, so he took advantage of if and winked at her. "A veek or so, I think. But I can probably convince Rogue to let us use hers if you'd like to go today. Are you asking me on a _date, Miss Fairbanks?"_

Nat laughed, pushing him slightly on the shoulder and trying to hide her own fluttering, eager grin. "We've only got twenty minutes left until class starts again, dummy."

With a gleam in his eye, he snorted slightly, pushing her back. He grabbed her half-nibbled apple and tossed it in the air, catching it with his other hand and not seeming to worry about the sticky juice that trickled down his wrist. "Oh, vell. Tomorrow, then?"

"Alright. But in the meantime, shut up and let me finish my lunch." She snatched the fruit out of his hand with a squeal of laughter as he poked her below the ribs, in that hollow space where tickles are born. She poked him back, not quite as adept at finding that spot, but he humored her and shrank back, laughing.

"Okay, okay, you vin. Almost!" He seized Nat's left knee and wiped the apple juice on her jeans, making her let out a completely undignified squawk and try to pull away, nearly tumbling to the ground. Nearby, a group of tiny sophomore girls, each wearing enough makeup to cover five or six Avon ladies, glanced up and rolled their eyes. Nat would have been embarrassed had she not seen Evan, who gave them a grin and a shake of his head, across the courtyard.

Gasping with laughter, she leaned across Kurt, folding her arms across his knees and using them as a pillow. She was panting, sighing out the last traces of a giggle. They sat like that for a long minute, before she realized how she was sitting, and how rigid and silent her companion had become. He cleared her throat and she chuckled nervously. Nat pulled back and crossed her hands neatly in her lap.

"Déjà vu. Haven't we played this game before?"

He was quiet for a moment, and when she glanced up at him he was looking sheepish. "_Ja_, I guess ve have. About that…you know, that first day that you vere here…"

She waved her hand at him dismissively, feeling her cheeks color at the mention of that day. "Don't worry about it."

Suddenly, almost enough to startle her, his eyes went wide and he snapped his fingers in remembrance. "Ach, I almost forgot! Kitty's birthday is on Saturday, and ve vere planning on taking her to the amusement park. You know, a surprise. Do you vant to help?"

"Absolutely!" Nat grinned widely, and Kurt returned the expression.

"_Wunderbar_! All ve have to do is make sure that she doesn't know about it, and ve'll spring it on her Saturday morning. I vas thinking, a blindfold for her to vear on the vay. _That_ might make things interesting…"

Nat giggled, one eyebrow going up. "Interesting, yes. But don't you think it might be a good idea to think _that_ one through some more? I don't know if you could blindfold Kitty without being horribly disemboweled. Or at least slapped really hard."

With a shrug and a little pout, he raised to his feet as the bell beckoned the students back to class. "Then I'll have to think of something a bit less aggressive. How does a giant pair of novelty sunglasses sound?"


	18. Stalked by the Brotherhood and Other Ann...

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**Chapter Eighteen: Stalked by the Brotherhood and Other Annoyances**

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By that following weekend, Kurt had come well within striking distance of accidentally revealing their plans for Kitty's birthday several times, but he had managed to cover for himself well enough that Kitty was still pretty much in the dark. She did, however, give him quite a strange look when he told her that he was planning to spend Saturday getting his bikini zone waxed, which, he later told Nat (after she and Rogue had shared a good laugh at his expense), was the first thing that had come to mind. The only problem with _that_ was that he had to explain why he'd been pondering bikini zone waxing in the first place.

Nat woke up early Saturday morning so she and Jean could go pick up the cake from the local bakery, but when she got out of bed Kurt was already showered and dressed, lounging on her computer chair with his feet resting on the desk. Apparently, he was only a late riser on school days. He hung around her bedroom as she got ready, and she caught him taking little sideways glances through the crack between the door and the wall as she dressed, trying not to be too obviously pervy. Blushing rapidly, she had hurried to clothe herself but said nothing to deter him.

As the two approached the garage at a slow, easy pace, Kurt looped his arm companionably around her waist, making her shiver with some strange quivery feeling in her chest. He was silent for a long moment, staring forward, apparently not wanting to look right at her. He cleared his throat. "Vat do you think I should get for Kitty's birthday present?"

Shaking her head, Nat stifled a laugh. "After all the planning that you've put into this party, are you seriously telling me that you haven't bought her a gift yet?"

Kurt shrugged and hopped into the car, a grin lighting up his face. He offered her his hand and she plopped down beside him, neither of them even thinking of going through the traditional argument over the "shotgun" seat. "I vork best under pressure! Vat did you get for her?"

"Oh, there was this candle set at the mall that she was fawning over when we went shopping last weekend. I got that. It's really nice, with all different flower scents and sweet little bath salts to go with it."

Kurt wrinkled his nose, eyes sparkling. "_Mein__ Gott_, you are _such_ a girl."

Jean grinned at them in the rearview mirror, flashing her perfect teeth, and flipped her long red braid out of the collar of her blouse. "Still shopping, Kurt?"

He sighed and sagged down in the seat, looking beaten. "_Ja_, I can't think of anything really good. After _last_ year's disaster, I have to get something that she vill absolutely love."

Nat's face brightened with interest. "What did you get for her last year?"

Jean rolled her eyes. "Don't ask him. Trust me." She laughed and started to hum along with the radio, pulling the car out onto Graymalkin Lane and heading off toward Main Street. "We'll stop at the complex of stores down the street from the bakery for a little while. They've got that bookstore that Kitty loves so much, so you should be able to find something there that she would like."

Beside Nat, Kurt pressed the necessary buttons on his wrist and the now-familiar hologram shimmered into place with a mechanical sound and a strange bending of light. Nat, with a shiver, turned away briefly and gulped, still rather disturbed by her friend's eerie instant makeover. She folded her arms and leaned on the car door, staring out the window at the trees and houses flashing past, lost in thought. _Who_'_d have guessed_? she wondered. _The fuzzy blue elf looks _normal_ to me now..._

The ride to the shopping center took only a few minutes, and the three of them exited the car into the early morning sunshine. Nat glanced around at the rapidly passing customers, the brightly colored shopping bags and the warm rush of activity that seemed to pulse through the atmosphere. Jean waved to them and took off toward the clothing boutique on the corner. "Meet me back at the car in an hour and we'll go get the cake. If you're late, I'm leaving without you!"

Nat laughed, but Kurt glanced at her, his expression grave. "She isn't kidding, you know. I had to valk home from the hardvare store a few months ago. Seventeen miles!" Nat's smile collapsed and her eyes expanded in surprise, but all he did was laugh animatedly, tossing his head back so his hair fell over his shoulders. "You're _vay_ too easy!"

She slapped at his arm and laughed. "You're a big jerk, but I'm sure that you're aware of that. Got your wallet, jerk?"

"I'm loaded, idiot," he snickered pleasantly, and patted his hip pocket as if to prove it. "Vere to?"

Creasing her brow in thought, Nat pointed at the high-peaked building labeled "BOOKS" in tall russet-colored letters. "I guess we ought to start there. Didn't Jean say that it's where Kitty likes to shop?"

"_Ja_, that's it. Let's go."

They stepped through the large front doors, passing a large marble statue of a woman on a bench with an open book on her lap.

They took off quickly, afraid of running out of time before they could find something suitable for a gift, but soon discovered that their fears were relatively unfounded. Inside the store, it was easy to see what it was that Kitty, who was both an intellectual and a trend-master, liked about the place. The main room was deceptively large, and several other levels stretched both up and down. Hundreds of shelves of books, some with gleaming, uncracked spines and others ragged with years of loving wear, waited for the next pair of hands to slide past and reach out for something to read. There was a small coffee bar at one end, and several dozen young people stood about, sipping lattes and looking bored. Kurt fit in easily with his black sweater, ratty jeans and an aloof glaze to his eyes, but the expression on Nat's face made her look like a child who had been offered a new toy, and was about to climb into a stranger's car to retrieve it. 

"Whoa..."

Kurt laughed. "Ach, it's _wunderbar_, isn't it?"

"I was going to say 'gigantic, but I guess it's '_wunderbar_' too." She stepped toward a rack of silk bookmarks and scripting pens in every shade, gently fingering the items and breathing in the aroma of dry paper and leather. "I've never been in a place with so many _books_!"

He clapped his hands together. "_Gut_, now all ve have to do is find something for Kitty. If ve split up, ve can find something in half the time. You go to the psychology and religion section, I've got arts and sciences. Then we can meet up again to survey travel and literature." He patted her on the shoulder and laughed, noting her bewildered expression. "Go on! Hurry hurry!"

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Nat stood on the ledge of the ancient civilizations department, staring down over a sea of twenty-something heads and picking out the romance, astronomy and foreign languages departments. There were signs on the ends of every shelf to direct visitors to the various areas of interest, but somehow she had managed to get herself not only lost, but on the wrong floor. Through a window beside a rack labeled "Human Sexuality", she could see Jean's car, where the redhead was leaning against the bonnet of the vehicle and waiting patiently. Nat glanced at her wristwatch nervously, letting out a sigh of relief to see that she still had nearly twenty minutes left to make her way back to Kurt and out to the car. She shifted her books to the other arm, glad that she had at least been able to complete _that_ part of her assigned task.

Then, Nat spotted a dark-haired young man standing in line. It was Kurt, and he was holding a thick book with a painting on the cover. He glanced from side to side, looking for her, carefully setting himself aside from any of the other patrons lest they accidentally brush against him and feel his fur, or see the strange way he held his hands. She grinned to herself, and cupped her palms around her mouth. "Kurt! Hey, Kurt!"

With the exception of several annoyed glares from the shoppers, she got no response from below. With a sheepish grin and an apologetic shrug, she turned and took off around the corner, not paying much attention to her direction or destination. There was a flash of color, a shriek of terror, and a loud _thump_ as she collided sharply with someone standing there, scattering her books across the floor and tumbling onto her backside. She reddened heatedly and tried to gather up her scattered merchandise, muttering apologies and justifications under her breath.

When Nat looked up, she felt her mouth drop open.

There stood Pietro Maximoff, sneering. He had his lean arms crossed over his chest, his head cocked to one side in amusement, and he carried no books or other goods. He offered her his hand to stand, but she shoved it aside and stood by herself, glowering crossly. _He_'_d probably just drop me and let me fall anyway_, she thought angrily.

"What do _you_ want?" She put on her best fury-face, crinkling her brow in her sincerest attempt to look intimidating. He appeared unimpressed. "And what are you doing here, anyway?"

He shrugged. "What does anybody do in a bookstore? I'm buyin' books."

Nat felt a vein in her forehead jump, a little pain growing between her temples. She pointed at his empty arms. "Doesn't look like you've had very good luck so far."

Another shrug on Pietro's end. He stared at her coolly, unblinking. "Not yet. We just got here."

Nat wanted to glance nervously over her shoulder, but couldn't seem to look away. "We?"

There was a movement behind her and she swung around, panic and aggravation etched across her face. Pietro laughed, and the young man behind her, who was about Scott's age, brown-haired and dressed in grungy clothes, looked amused. She recognized him from the professor's files as well, but couldn't put a name to the face. He stepped out from behind her, placing himself between Nat and Pietro and resting his elbow on a nearby shelf. "Chill out, babe. We're not gonna do anything to ya."

A chill spread through Nat's limbs at a sudden thought. "You...are you...why are you _following_ me?"

Pietro laughed again, shaking his head, and the other guy snorted loudly, glancing at his friend. The white-haired boy continued. "What makes you think that our being here has anything to do with _you_? You hold yourself in a pretty high place in the universe, don't you firecracker?"

A flare of anger erupted within Nat's chest, and she rubbed her hands together, feeling the familiar tingling sensation beginning between her fingers but too irritated to worry about it much. "Look who's talking! I don't think I've ever met someone as conceited as you, Pietro Maximoff. You practically _ooze_ narcissism."

He looked stunned for a moment, but he masked it quickly with his trademarked sneer. His friend looked surprised, then amused, and finally angry, his brow folding heavily. For the first time, she noticed a third young man, a thin-boned boy with large eyes and an oddly-shaped jaw, behind the two. He was laughing quite hard, happily chortling at the meager insults she flung at his companion. _Toad__! He_'_s _got_ to be Toad_, she thought, and shivered, but tried to look unruffled as he hopped on peculiarly bent legs down the aisle to stand beside Pietro.

Nat raised her chin. "Speaking of oozing..."

Toad, who was actually "Todd", stopped laughing abruptly. "Hey!"

She clasped her books to her chest and tried to push past the rough little group, but was tossed back when the brown-haired youth thrust out his arm to clothesline her. Her books fell to the floor again, and she rubbed her collarbone and throat, trying to keep tears of pain from squeezing out of the corners of her eyes. Pietro turned on his friend, jabbing him sharply in the chest with his fingertips. "Knock it off, Alvers!"

Nat glanced at him, surprised, as he continued barking at the others. "Get the hell outta here, before I have to make you! Now!" Alvers glared at him, but stalked out heavily on black-booted feet. Toad stared uneasily at them for a moment, unsure of whether he wanted to be talking orders but afraid to go against Pietro. Finally, he followed Alvers down the aisle and away from Nat, without glancing behind him to see what was happening.

Pietro watched Nat for a time as she blinked quickly to stem the flow of tears. He said nothing, just stood there staring for a long moment until she glared harshly at him, her hand still resting lightly on her throat. "_Well_?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to say something snide and infuriating before you go off with your creepy friends?"

He gave her a crooked smile. "I wasn't planning on it."

Nat let out a little growl of exasperation, raising her palms. "Then what do you _want_?"

Pietro stepped closer, and she moved back a spot, until she was squeezed against a shelf, the wooden lip spearing her in the ribs. He pressed his face in closely, letting his hot breath play across her cheeks. She stifled a whimper but held her chin high, setting her jaw and not letting her bottom lip quiver as it so wanted to do. Her hands were burning like mad now, her fingertips almost numb, and she them pushed against her hipbones to try to deaden the burn while making it look like she was just putting them in her pockets.

"I want you to rethink your current...arrangement."

Pietro's voice was soft, but with that steel edge she recognized now. She knew what he was talking about. "What?"

He jerked his head toward the door through which his friends had disappeared. "Sorry 'bout them. They can be a little…rambunctious every now and then. But I swear: they're hardly the best we have to offer." He stepped back slowly, and began to move slightly back and forth as if he were pacing. "But _you_ could be."

There was a pain in her stomach. "I don't know what you're saying."

"Yes you do. I know you do. Now. What do you say?"

Her lip curled, her head beginning to swim. She could smell his cologne, a brighter, cooler smell than Kurt's warm, almost spicy skin, and see the glow in his eye. "I'm _not_ going with you, _any_ of you, no matter what you say to me. You might as well give up now."

There was a sharp blade of anger that flashed across his face for an instant, and was lost in that cool expression again. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes bland. His words came out fast and prickly, as if he were thinking them rather than saying them aloud. "You don't know what you're givin' up, here, Fairbanks. You have no _idea_ what kind of life you've walked into. Do you know what it's like to play the hero all the time?"

Nat watched him, eyes wide and wet. Of course she didn't know. She had never been on the side of the heroes.

"I only want to help you. You know you aren't cut out for the life of the savior, the bearer of morality on a silver platter." Pietro sneered. "And why should you be? What has the world ever done for _you_ to deserve being saved?"

He stopped pacing and pressed in close with a dreadfully swift pounce, this time swooping in with a hawk's mouth for Nat's lips. She let out a little shriek and twisted away, feeling her hands flail roughly against the edge of the shelf, skinning her knuckles and making them bleed. There was a moment of intense fear that spread through both of them, and Pietro leaped back, staring at the flames that were suddenly licking around his ankles. They were tiny things, barely a hint of what Nat knew she was capable of, but there was more than just fear and anger warring inside her at the moment. She thought she heard him whisper, "Pyro," more like a strange sort of recognition than of exclamation.

Pietro looked surprised for a moment, but he recovered quickly and stomped out the baby flames before they could cause damage to anything other than the carpet. To Nat's absolute shock, he turned back, smiling as if he was proud of her, with a frightening glint in his eye. "That was pretty good, but I think you can do better."

She pushed him away, ignoring the fact that she was shaking from head to toe, and stepped over the smoldering black mess on the floor. "You're damn right I can! Now stay away from me or I'll give you a firsthand demonstration!" She turned and tried to flee, barely able to do more than wobble away with tears in her eyes. Pietro watched her leave, his expression unreadable.

He turned and walked down the aisle, turning several times and approaching a dark-eyed woman in a leopard-print blouse who sat in an armchair, eyeing him warily. She glanced around and, finding no one watching, shook her head as if to let her hair shiver around her shoulders. In her place stood a teal-skinned, red-haired beauty, her eyes bright smudges of ashen blue-gray.

She placed a slender finger on her chin as if she were thinking deeply. "Well? Anything, Pietro?" 

Pietro nodded, tossing himself into another chair. "She's got the kind of powers you expected. Exactly." He shrugged. "She doesn't seem too eager to leave Xavier's little self-righteousness fan club, but I think she's got possibility."

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Outside, Nat breathed in clean, cool air through lungs that felt painfully dry, as if they had been filled with sawdust. Her hands were trembling, her head a throbbing ache between her ears, but she couldn't slow her thoughts. There was so much happening within her, so much not adding up in the way that she was sure it should. There was a part of her that wanted to retch at the thought of Pietro and his friends wanting to recruit her, and another part that was insatiably curious. She knew that they were the so-called "bad guys", that she would be better off staying with Professor Xavier, with Kurt, than she would be staying with Darkholme's "Brotherhood" for a single day. Still, there was a small, terrifying part of her that wanted nothing less than to hear Pietro out, to learn what he had to say about what she was capable of, what she deserved in the face of a world that had rarely been anything but cruel to her.

But, there would be none of that. Her home was with Xavier and his X-Men. It didn't matter that she wasn't exactly hero material, according to Pietro or her own nagging doubts. _I can learn...I can become one of them. I know it_.

With a quivering little breath, Nat made her way over to the car, where Jean and Kurt were waiting for her. Jean gave her a long, piercing stare, which Nat mistook for suspicion, and ushered her into the back seat beside Kurt. On the way to the bakery, she sat in silence, and Kurt took her hand gently in his in an attempt to comfort her against a hazy trepidation that he couldn't quite decipher. She stared blankly out the window, trying to smother her own thoughts, Kurt's gentle hand standing as her only delicate tether to the real world.


	19. Watch Out For the Bumper Cars

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"He who has a thousand friends  
Has not a friend to spare,  
While he who has one enemy  
Shall meet him everywhere."   
-_Ralph Waldo Emerson_

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**Chapter Nineteen: Watch Out For the Bumper Cars**

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A bag of wrapping paper and foil bows tucked under her arm, Nat tiptoed up the front steps and into the house. She glanced around for a moment, feeling oddly as if she were on some sort of clandestine spy mission, and dashed up to Kurt's room to stow their things under his bed. Thinking better of it, she plopped down on the floor and started wrapping the gifts from Kurt and herself, seated cross-legged on the carpet with the decorated paper and the packages spread across the floor before her. It took only a few minutes of wrapping to get everything together, and Nat put the parcels and the leftover wrapping supplies underneath his bed.

It was Kurt's job to get the cake into the house without Kitty seeing it. This should have been easy, considering the fact that he could simply _think_ himself into the kitchen, but it resulted in far more mishaps than anyone could have predicted. Assuming incorrectly that the pantry would be empty, he 'ported in only to find Kitty looking for something to eat. When she noticed him and screamed in shock, throwing a banana at his head, he'd dropped the cake and almost smashed it to a paste on the floor, only to narrowly catch it just before it hit the ground. Inside the packaging, the frosting was a little smudged, but the cake itself was intact, and his next task was to explain to Kitty what he was doing.

Kitty picked up the now-bruised banana and pulled off the peel, tossing it into the trash bin and munching on the fruit. She pointed at the box. "What's that?"

Kurt stared at Kitty, eyes wide. "It's...shoes. _Ja_. My new shoes."

She raised a single, thin eyebrow in a questioning look. "A large, pink box of...shoes?"

"Vat other kind of box vould they put large, pink shoes into?" He grinned, shrugging slightly.

"So, why were you, like, bringing your new shoes into the _pantry_?"

Kurt's yellow eyes went even wider. "They...like it in here."

"They like it in here."

"_Ja_."

"Your large, pink shoes like it in here."

A long, awkward pause hovered in the air. "Uh-huh."

She blinked again, staring at him with a strange expression on her face. She nodded slowly and started backing away. Behind her, Evan had showed up and was stifling a torrent of laughter with the back of his hand. "Riiight... I think I'll be _going_ now. I hope your...shoes...like their new home." She rolled her eyes and disappeared out into the kitchen and down the hall, leaving Kurt to let out a huge breath that he'd been holding.

"What's goin' on?" asked Rogue, appearing from the living room just as Evan lost his battle against the sheer stupidity of the entire situation and dissolved into giggles, bracing himself against a shelf and almost toppling a row of canned soup onto the floor.

Between gasps for air, he managed to get out, "Apparently, Kurt's new shoes are in the cake box."

"Ah can' believe you, Kurt Wagner. Just one little job we give you, and you almost manage tah ruin the entire surprise!"

Kurt raised his hands in defense, looking blameless. "It vasn't _my_ fault! I thought _you_ vere supposed to keep Kitty busy until ve got everything into the house."

Rogue shrugged, looking slightly sheepish. "Does that mean she isn't allowed tah eat or somethin'? How was Ah supposed tah keep her from getting' a freakin' banana if she wanted one?" She rolled her eyes, snatching the box out of Kurt's hands and placing it gently on the shelf. "Now, we have tah get goin' pretty soon, so beat it on outta here and get ready!"

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The amusement park was a land of vivid colors and flashing lights, smelling of cotton candy and cinnamony elephant ears. Nat, who hadn't been to one in probably five years, was awe-struck and thrilled, and found herself clutching Kurt's arm with all her might, the events of the morning almost forgotten. Kitty was given the go-ahead to choose their activities for the evening, much to Evan's displeasure, and they spent the first hour at the roller rink. By the time she decided that it was time to move on to the rides, Evan was sulking about wanting to go on the Mind-Bender and Nat had more bruises on her butt than she had ever thought possible.

Once they were outside the confines of a building, they tended to scatter. Evan went toward the coasters and thrill rides and Jean was trying to convince Scott to go through the haunted house. Rogue stayed with Kitty, who stood there with a huge grin on her face, staring at a young man running the target booth. Kurt shook his head.

"That's Steve Twinby. Step back. I think her head is going to explode."

Nat giggled, tugging on Kurt's hand like an eager child. "Oh, let her drool. It's her birthday. Besides, I want to go on the rides!"

"_Ja_, _ja_, calm down!" He laughed and submitted to her excitement, letting her lead him from booth to booth, ride to ride. She won a goldfish and two stuffed animals at the pond, and Kurt stood there looking surprised, but he smiled warmly when she gave him a pat on the cheek and offered him one of her prizes.

Ice cream cones in hand, they found a place at a picnic table where the cake and gifts were spread out, Ororo dozing under a tree a few yards away, and left their new trophies there so they could go on the rides. Nat stood on the seat of the picnic table for a moment, surveying the area around her. She caught sight of Evan, looking pale and unsteady as he teetered away from the Mind-Bender, and saw Kitty flirting with Steve as Rogue won dozens of stuffed animals at the target game. She couldn't see Jean and Scott anywhere. For a few minutes she watched the people milling about, playing games, riding rides and eating junk food, relishing this delightful world of normalcy and fun. The morning remained a tiny nagging kernel of memory in the back of her head, one that she readily pushed away as Kurt took her hand and they set off for the bumper cars.

On the way, they managed to gather up most of the others, but Scott and Jean remained missing. Evan was still looking a little weak and peaked, so Rogue of course wanted to know if he'd like to go on the Tilt-o-Whirl with her, and he gave her a withering look that made her laugh. Kitty was happily clutching a violet cat that she had "won" at Steve's booth, almost skipping as they approached the line. Kurt dispensed ride tickets from a massive wad stashed in his pocket, and they boarded the cars.

Nat and Kurt quickly grabbed a car together, and Kitty and Rogue shared another. Evan, however, decided at the last minute that he was still a little too queasy for even this mild ride, and stood at the railing waving at the others every time they passed.

Kurt and Nat's car revved forward and started moving with a little jerk, making Nat screech and laugh wildly as she bounced against Kurt's shoulder. She went to grab the wheel and found his hands already there, so she pushed them aside only to have him do the same, both of them shrieking with laughter. They grappled for a moment, their car spinning in place and springing off of the other cars and the walls of the ride. Rogue and Kitty shot past, ramming into their car hard enough to send them spiraling backward toward a large group of other cars.

There was a moment in time that seemed to freeze, to stand immobile with frightening clarity. Kurt's arm came free from the wheel and swung outward in a large arc as if he were trying to capture his balance, his wrist smashing against the railing with a sickening crunch of shattering circuitry and dead-handed flesh. There was that strange bending of light, that mysterious shimmer, and briefly, almost too quick to be seen, the other drivers caught sight of a strange-looking creature in the seat beside the dark-haired girl. Nat gasped, feeling her pulse momentarily jump, and she vaguely heard Rogue yelp something that she couldn't make out. The world gradually fell silent around them, and Kurt glanced at her, his eyes broad and glittering with fear.

And he was gone, in a little puff of pinkish smoke.

It was as if there had been an explosion. Some people were trying to scramble away from the car that Nat now sat in alone, a few coming forward as if to help her. She struggled with her safety belt for a moment, her eyes blearing with tears that welled up and spilled before she could stop them. When she managed to get up on trembling legs, there was so much movement around her that she thought for a moment that she was hallucinating, that she was about to faint and tumble forward.

She leaped down and caught a glimpse of Kitty's pale, frightened face, felt the younger girl's small hands hauling her to her feet. Rogue was looking anxious, and the three girls glanced at one another as the others emptied the ride. They moved to the railing where Evan was waiting, a terrified expression on his face.

"Wh-where do you think he could have gone?" Kitty stammered, shaking slightly.

"The mansion, maybe?" Nat asked tentatively, grasping at the only straw she could think of.

Rogue and Evan shook their heads, and Rogue explained. "He can't 'port that far. His maximum range is only a few miles and we're way more than that from home. I don't think Kurt knows which way to go to get home anyway."

Nat was shaking hard now, and Kitty put her arm gently around Nat's shoulders. "It's totally going to be okay. Kurt knows his way around. I'm sure he, like, knows a place where he can hide until we find him and get out of here."

"Do you think maybe he's at the car?" Evan asked.

"Good! That's good. We should check there first." Kitty licked her lips. "I'll check the car. Evan and Rogue, go check the bathrooms. Nat, go tell Storm what's going on, and see if you can't find Scott and Jean. We'll all meet back at the table in twenty minutes."

There were nods all around, and they scattered, running in their assigned directions. Nat spotted Scott by the carousel, and he bounded over to her with Jean close behind. His shoulders were tense, and Jean looked terrified. Scott grasped Nat by the forearms, shaking her to try to calm her. Fretful tears poured down her cheeks, her voice choked and strained.

"Nat! We heard there was an accident at the bumper cars. Isn't Kurt with you? Where the hell is he?"

She drew in a shaky breath, a sob escaping her. "I-I don't know! We can't find him, and his holowatch was destroyed. Oh, God, we just _have_ to find him! What if..."

Jean took hold of Nat's shoulder, pushing Scott gently out of the way. "Everything's going to be fine, Nat. This isn't the first time that his image inducer has gone on the fritz in public. He's probably well hidden at the moment. All we have to do is find him, and I've got that covered."

She closed her eyes and wrinkled her brow in thought, and a shiver ran through Nat's frame. She was calling Kurt, searching for him with her mind. Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open, a tiny smile playing across her lips. "He met up with Kitty near the café, and they 'ported to the car. He's fine, but they need the keys so they can get inside. The others know, so they're meeting back at the table."

Scott nodded curtly. "Let's go. Nat, go meet Storm and the others, and then hightail it back to the car. It's about time we got out of here."

Nat smiled gratefully and took off again with a feeling of relief blossoming in her stomach. The tears continued, tears of joy and still a few more of fear. There was still so much that could go wrong, and all she could do was pray that it didn't. As she neared the picnic area where Storm and the others were now waiting, a psychic voice interrupted her frightened musings.

"_Everyone_! _We have a major situation_! _We_'_ve got F.O.H_.! _They came out of nowhere_, _and we_ _can_'_t fight them off alone_! _Get down here_, _now_!"

Nat heard the gasps of the others as she approached them, staring in confusion at their expressions. Storm grabbed Nat's wrist, and there was a strange swirling mist that formed above their heads and expanded as if it were alive. Storm suddenly hovered upward, shooting above the massive gray cloud, and Nat screamed, seizing the woman's waist and holding on for dear life.

"I've got her! The rest of you, go! Now!"

Nat buried her face in Storm's streaming white hair, sobbing and terrified. The ground below was blotted out by the cloud, which was beginning to rumble with thunder, and it almost looked like they would be caught in the soft, cottony mass if they fell. She knew better than that, however, and was fully aware that if Storm dropped her she was likely to be skewered on the Ferris wheel.

By the time that they had been flying for about a minute, although it felt like a lifetime, Nat had dropped out of and back into consciousness and was feeling calm but drained. Through a dry throat, she managed to stutter out the question that had been lingering on her tongue.

"Wh-what's the F-F-F.O.H.?"

Storm tightened her grip on Nat's shoulders. "The Friends of Humanity, child. Mutant haters. They live for opportunities like this one. _There_." She pointed, and Nat glanced down to see what she was talking about, but had to press her eyelids shut as a wave of nausea swelled up within her at the sight of the parking lot so far below. Storm descended quickly, her feet touching the pavement gracefully. Nat clasped her for a few seconds longer than she had to, and let go feeling unstable and frail.

Not more than ten yards away, Scott and Jean were valiantly standing off against a small swarm of rough-looking men and a few equally rough-looking women. Scott's shoulder was bleeding but he seemed to be holding his own quite well, and Jean was tossing several of them backward with a carefully aimed blast of teke. They recovered quickly and approached, only to have the same thing happen again. One man lay on the asphalt, a large hole blasted in the front of his shirt and his chest badly bruised from a small sampling of Scott's eyebeam. Kitty was crouching over a dark silhouette on the pavement, and Nat screamed when she realized what it was. The strength that had left her legs from flight temporarily flooded back into her body, and she raced over, collapsing beside Kitty and the strange, human-shaped lump.

Kurt lay insensible on the ground, his forehead bleeding profusely, there was a piece of bloody wood beside him, the tool of one of the men who had attacked them. His chest was rising and falling, but weakly, and she flung her arms around his neck, pulling him across her lap and inching closer to the side of the car and the partial protection that it provided. Kitty glanced at her, nodded slightly, and turned back to help the others.

Nat didn't notice when the others showed up, panting from the run, and wasn't able to pay much attention to the brief fight that ensued. At one point, Scott flew past her and slammed into the car door, but he rose quickly and was back in action. She didn't observe Storm's fantastic display, but felt the cold air on her back and ignored it. She didn't see Rogue's take-down of two men at once, but heard the sound of air escaping their lungs. She never turned to look, never really cared about what was happening behind her, only concerned with the fact that Kurt was injured and she couldn't see his laughing eyes. His face was dark and shadowed except for the bright smear of red above his left eyebrow. He fidgeted slightly and gave a little moan, and her sob of relief was drowned out by the shout of one of her teammates.

The entire encounter probably lasted less than five minutes, and no one else was hurt, but to Nat it felt as if they had been fighting for a lifetime and she had lost everyone dear to her to a bloody death on the pavement. She put her shaking hand on Kurt's chest, and felt his breath there, but it didn't make her feel much better. His head had begun to move slightly from side to side and she tried to hold him still in case he went into convulsions.

By the time they were in the car and making their way home so Logan could take a look at Kurt's injuries, he had already woken up and was speaking in sentences, although they sounded a little slurred. His eyes were clear and he could answer questions easily, but Nat was still too petrified to say a word. She sat in the back seat with his head in her lap, unmoving and unable to think.


	20. Reflections in a Murky Mirror

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"Go away...I'm alright."

-_H.G. Wells, dying words_

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**Chapter Twenty: Reflections in a Murky Mirror**

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_Mein__ Gott_, there's so much I want to say to her, if only she would listen to me. I've never seen her like this, so withdrawn and tired, her eyes dim and weary. I wish that she would come to me, and tell me what is wrong, but her silence and my thoughts are all I have to ponder when it comes to Natalie Fairbanks.

As if I didn't _know_ what's bothering her. It started that day at the amusement park, when my inducer cut out on me and exposed me to the whole world. I saw her face then, just before I 'ported out. She was terrified. I know it wasn't _me_ that frightened her. She's been around me to much for that to be the problem now, at least I hope so. I _really_ hope so.

It was being discovered that scared her, I think. And why shouldn't it? It scares me to no end to know how others will react at the sight of me as I truly am, so why should I expect her to feel any differently? Why would anyone _not be afraid of being alongside me when I am exposed?_

But, honestly, selfishly, plainly, I _do_. I _do_ expect her to feel differently.

So now, she won't speak to me, and when she looks at me I can see pain in her eyes that reflects so deeply that it hurts me in return. I tried to speak to her in the car on the way home that evening, but it was as if she couldn't hear me, or as if I were speaking to someone who couldn't respond in any way but to breathe, softly and slowly like a person asleep. When we got home, she went up to her room and disappeared for the night. Later, I 'ported in to see if she was alright, and she was so blunt and harsh with me that I thought she was angry. I left like she told me to, not wanting to upset her further, but I was sure that I saw tears in her eyes. I wanted so badly to hold her until they went away.

I really thought that there was something good between us. We are friends, there is no doubt of that. At least we _were_, and I hope we are now. But her friendship wasn't all I felt, and I was rigorously hoping that she had the same ideas that I did. Now, I'm quite sure that I was imagining it, that she was simply being pleasant and now she's offended in some way, and it won't ever be the same again.

It has been almost a week now, a week of agonizing silence and awkward moments and a burning aspiration to know what she is thinking. What I wouldn't give to have the powers of Professor Xavier, or Jean, for just a day, an hour, a minute, so I could see into her head and pick apart all the little walls and barriers. She has secrets, we all do, and I don't blame her for that. What _I_ want, what I can't seem to stop thinking about, is what she thinks of _me_, of what happened that night at the park. Is she angry at me for getting caught? Or just worried about the way I look, about the fact that she and I will never be able to do anything in public without having to put on this little charade of mine? I don't know, but I can't stop wondering.

Sometimes, now, I dream about her. She's laughing, her green eyes happy and bright, and I'm laying in her arms as I did after I'd been hurt, only this time I'm awake and I can feel her warm skin. Then, she turns down to me and sees the mottled bruises on my face. She begins to cry, and I can't reach her through this strange glass wall that springs up from the ground between us. Her tears and her pale face are excruciatingly lucid, but I can't hear her voice or reach out through the glass to pull her to me.

And then I wake up, feeling cold, and I wonder how she is sleeping.

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I'm not sure why it happened the way that it did. It could have been so simple, a ride on the bumper cars, a piece of birthday cake, and we would have come home and watched movies or collapsed in bed after a long day of fun. That's not what went on, of course, and now there is so much left over to be dealt with before I explode from within.

Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Kurt, lying on the asphalt with blood pouring along his temples, and swollen lips, ashen gray. And when I look at him, when I see him alive and healing, all I want to do is take his face between my hands and kiss his wounds until they fade from his skin and vanish from memory.

There's a part of me that blames myself. It was my idea to go on the bumper cars, not even thinking about the possible consequences. Still, that's not the thing that has been lingering so heavily on my mind these past few days.

I can't stop thinking about Pietro and his offer. Sometimes, especially at night when I am most exhausted, it's all that my mind can stand to think about. What if he's right? Clearly, I showed myself and all the others that I'm not capable of fighting alongside them, and if I had I don't think I could have just left those horrible men unconscious on the ground. They hurt my best friend, they hate mutants and therefore _me_ for nothing that I have ever done, and they are nothing but bigots with an anger control problem. Most of all, I seem to boil inside at the thought that they attacked _Kurt, probably the kindest, gentlest person I've ever met in my entire life, and beat him so badly that he's still only beginning to heal. Why do these men deserve his protection? Why should he have to aid them, when all they will do is turn around and attempt to slaughter him with their misplaced revulsion and angry hands?_

Every night I lay on my back in bed, the covers neatly unrumpled beneath me. When I'm sleeping, all I see is Kurt, his poor battered face, and my own weak arms that could do nothing more than lift his head off the pavement. So I don't sleep. When I sometimes drift off, there's either nightmares or, sometimes, nothingness, on those few nights that I'm too tired to even imagine an alternate existence in my head.

I can tell that the others know something is wrong. Jean and Kitty have been so gentle, and Rogue seems to want to avoid me for lack of conversational topics. Scott watches me wearily, and Evan takes Rogue's way out. Professor Xavier tries almost every day to get me to speak to him, but I won't, I can't. How could I let him discover what Pietro told me, and that I've actually been _thinking_ about it, as if I want to take him up on his offer? I can't let anyone know. It will have to be yet another secret, locked away inside, the key thrown away in the recesses of my mind.

Kurt wants to help me, to know what's wrong. I can tell.

But once again, how can I reveal to him what I'm thinking? I can't let him know that I've realized my own inability to be one of them, a full-fledged hero, an X-Man. I can't let him know that, as much as I love it here and love him...them...I haven't yet been able to decipher my own future and my own desires. I want to be _here_, I know that...but I also want to hate those men. I want to hate them with all my heart, and there doesn't seem to be enough room inside me for both that abhorrence and these other raging emotions that I can't seem to place or to name.

There's also fear, a terrible, aching fear in my stomach. It's a fear of acknowledgement, of discovery, the fear that anyone who has lived so long in hiding feels when they know that the world may soon learn their secret. I'm a _mutant_, the world's ultimate minority, and I know _that_ fear.

So I lie there, thinking about everything, and nothing at the same time, until I'm utterly exhausted.

And then I drift off, feeling cold, and I wonder how he is sleeping.


	21. Movie Night

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"When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap."

-_Cynthia Heimel_

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**Chapter Twenty-One: Movie Night**

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Jean sighed and leaned back against the wall outside Kurt's bedroom. It was hard for _anyone_ to miss the way he was feeling at the moment, and pretty much impossible for a telepath. Down the hall, she could "hear" Nat, the same jumbled thoughts pouring from the poor girl's equally tortured mind. Of all the things in the world to make a person as angsty and passionate as a bad teen movie, young love worked as well with mutants as it did with average people.

It was very late, actually very early, and Jean had been having almost as much trouble sleeping over the past week as Nat and Kurt had been having. She couldn't imagine how the professor must be feeling, but assumed that he was better able to deal with it than she was. Still, she had seen the tired look on his face growing more and more intense with each passing day, so he was either picking up on his students' anxiety or he was simply worried about them himself.

She sighed again, wrinkling her smooth white brow, and made up her mind. There was no way that Jean Grey could let this continue much longer. She was going to have to do _something_ about it before she had a nervous breakdown from fatigue, or Kurt and Nat simply cried until they drowned in their sleep. She had to do something to get them talking to one another again. Maybe her motivations were selfish, but she didn't really care at this point. She just wanted a full night's rest, damn it.

Softly, she padded down the hallway and rapped her knuckles on Kitty's bedroom door. There was a long empty pause, so she knocked harder. She jumped slightly as a very irritated Kitty, hair disheveled and face creased with pillow-lines, stuck her head through the door and hissed, "_What_?"

Jean restrained a yawn. "Are you awake?"

Kitty harrumphed loudly. "Well, I am _now_. You need something?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if you could help me with...a project." Jean pushed the door open and stepped inside, taking a seat on the edge of Kitty's bed.

"Are you _kidding_ me? You woke me up at two in the morning to get help on a _project_?"

"Not a school project or something, a personal project."

Kitty eyed her cagily, trying to look aloof although her interest was definitely piqued. "Like what? Are you, like, _finally_ going to tell Scott that—"

"It has nothing to do with Scott," Jean snapped, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "It's about Nat and Kurt, and how they've been avoiding each other the past few days."

Kitty rolled her large blue eyes. "Oh, you mean Mister and Missus 'Maybe-if-I-ignore-my-problems-long-enough-they'll-magically-go-away'?"

Jean laughed and nodded. "The very ones."

"I'm not too sure it's possible to get them to _look_ at each other, let alone have a conversation."

The redhead sighed and twisted a curl of glossy hair around her finger. She tucked her feet gracefully underneath her, and settled down for a long chat. "Well, we have to try _something_. I hate to see them so sullen and…disturbed. Besides, if I have to go through another week of this ridiculousness, someone's goin' down. And I don't really care who."

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The following weekend, Kitty and Jean were ready to put their plans into action. Scott, who had no idea he had been duped into participating in their arrangement, had gone to the movie rental store and was renting a wealth of videos and DVDs. Kitty had tried to encourage him to get as many romantic flicks as he could find, but Jean finally convinced her that, if everything went the way it was supposed to, it wasn't the movies that Nat and Kurt would be paying attention to.

All day on Saturday, Rogue had managed to keep herself from getting involved in almost every step of the planning process for their movie night. Finally, however, she'd been caught doing absolutely nothing around three o'clock that afternoon, and had been sent to the store for more soda and chips, the first batch having been wolfed down by Logan for lunch. Jean hadn't been exactly happy about this, seeing as how she had spent nearly two hours at the grocery store that morning, braving the hideously thick crowd of weekend shoppers. Kitty and Jean had cleaned the living room from top to bottom, only to have Evan set up an impromptu skateboard ramp across the couch, using boards and nails and dusting the room in wood shavings. He tried to duck out just in time to avoid having to clean up, and he _would_ have made it if Jean hadn't been quite adept and psychic ear-pulling. It's not very easy to pretend you can't hear someone who can tell you what to do from halfway across town.

Once Scott was gone with the movie rental card and a list of suggestions, Evan was struggling with the twisted vacuum cleaner cord, and Rogue was hastily tossing one of every kind of snack food she could find into her shopping cart, Jean and Kitty sat down for a few minutes to discuss the current problem. Their simple little plan had turned into something far more complicated than they had intended, and it wasn't made any easier by the fact that both Nat and Kurt had come up with some excuse to avoid the get-together that evening. Nat said she had homework, which Jean knew she didn't, and Kurt had tried to come up with a _believable_ story this time, saying that he was going to spend the evening hacking into the Pentagon's computer system.

Kitty sighed and plopped back onto a chair at the kitchen table, letting out a tired little groan. She allowed her head to fall onto her folded arms on the table, her voice muffled in the crook of her elbow. "Have we forgotten anything? Please say we haven't forgotten anything."

Jean yawned. "Not that I can think of. Except Nat and Kurt."

"I give up. They can be, like, as grouchy and aggravating as they want, and absolutely _hate_ each other for all I care. I'm tired, and I want a nap."

"Well so do I, and there's no way I'm going to be getting one until those two make up! So snap out of it!"

Kitty exhaled noisily, letting her head flop backward over the chair's headrest. "They were both willing to come until they found out that the other would be there. I mean, I just can't believe how stubborn they're being."

"I can. They're just being a couple. Or, rather, trying _not_ to be one."

Kitty's head snapped up. "You think so? Really? I'm not, like, the _only_ one who can totally see it?"

"Hardly. They're practically ready for marriage."

"But they aren't even speaking..."

"Exactly. They're both terrified of admitting it, but they really like each other. A ton."

The younger girl stuck out her bottom lip. "That's so _sad_! It's, like, unrequited love and stuff! We have to do something before they start writing corny poetry and drinking flavored coffees with middle-aged women."

"Well, duh. It's absolutely terrible that those two won't just own up to their feelings."

There was a loud clatter as Evan dropped something heavy, and a shattering sound followed by some muffled cursing. Jean sighed, and looked up with a bright smile as Scott came in through the back door, carrying a plastic bag of DVDs. He glanced at her, wearing an almost wistful expression. Kitty caught sight of Jean's own dreamy look and rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "And the great Hypocrisy Queen strikes again..."

Jean shot her a withering glare, and got to her feet to take the bag from Scott's hand, peering inside. "What'd you get?"

He shrugged and settled down on a stool, popping the cap off a bottle of carrot juice and taking a swig. "I got one for everyone that's going to be there tonight. 'Interview With a Vampire' for Rogue, 'My Best Friend's Wedding' for Kitty, something in Japanese for Evan, 'Princess Monkey-O', or something like that. Oh, and 'The Breakfast Club' for you, Jean, and 'Pokémon 2000' for myself."

Kitty blinked. "You're kidding."

"Of course I am. _I _got 'Bambi'." He smirked a little, proud of his meager gag.

Kitty poked her tongue out between her lips. Jean ignored them both and frowned, digging through the bag. "Did you pick up anything for Nat or Kurt?"

Scott pressed his lips together for a moment, not wanting to upset her, and shook his head. "They both said that they weren't coming. I got 'Lola Rennt' for Kurt, just in case he decides to show, and 'The Wizard of Oz' for Nat. She once told me that it was her favorite movie."

Jean flopped down heavily beside Scott, who squeezed her shoulder. "We're going to have to convince them to come, no matter what..."

"What have you two got going on that's so important for both of them to be there?"

"Nothing that _you_'_d_ notice, Sir Romance," retorted Kitty sarcastically. "Only their very _happiness_."

"Huh?" He glanced at Jean for help. "What's she blathering on about now?"

Glaring across the table at him, Kitty crossed her arms and continued as if Jean hadn't heard. "If you _must_ know, we're going to try to get Kurt and Nat to make up tonight."

He glanced from one girl to the other, slowly shaking his head. "I don't know, you guys. Do you really think it's a good idea to poke your noses around in their business?"

Jean wriggled in her seat and snatched the bottle of juice from his hand, taking a drink before returning it. "_They_ aren't doing anything about their business, so I figure somebody has to. Besides, it's not like I don't already know everything that's going on."

Scott sighed. "I guess. But _I'm_ not getting involved."

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"So...is Kurt going to be there?" Nat asked, twisted her hands tightly in her lap.

Jean watched her guiltily, swallowing her remorse like an arsenic pill for the cause. "I don't think so. That is, we've already watched one movie and he hasn't shown up yet." _Well_, _that_'_s not entirely false_, Jean thought. _I don_'_t know whether or not Kitty managed to convince him_. "You could really use a night of relaxation, Nat. I know that you...haven't been feeling very well for the last few days."

Nat chewed on her bottom lip, her eyebrows lowered in concentration. Slowly, a sad little smile spread across her face. "Yeah, okay. I'm coming."

Down the hall, Kitty knocked hard on Kurt's door, practically banging her hand against the wood to be heard over the blaring of his stereo. It opened a crack and he stuck his head out into the hallway. The first thing she noticed was the wilted appearance of his face, his deeply set amber eyes. "_Ja_, vat do you vant?"

"So? You coming or what?"

A shake of his head. "_Nein_, I already told you. I'm busy."

He started to shut the door, but Kitty stuck her hand in the jam so he couldn't, and he opened it again, looking weary. "This whole trying to keep me out thing is pointless anyway, and I'm just being nice by actually making you open the door. Come on, Kurt. Watch movies with us. It'll be, like, fun, I promise." She flashed her prettiest smile. "There'll be soo-daa...Even that nasty grapefruit kind you like. And that German movie with the running lady."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "I don't know."

She tried to look desperate, hoping to appeal to his natural male desire to make her happy. "Please, Kurt? _Please_? Jean and I worked all day getting ready. We'd be so disappointed if you couldn't be there."

Kurt paused again, his face softening into a smile. "_Ja_, I suppose I can come."

Kitty threw her arms around his neck, almost knocking him off of his feet, and he laughed. Kitty was surprised at how much she had missed the sound, and grabbed his arm to lead him downstairs.

When they entered the living room, already darkened to watch the films, she felt him stiffen next to her and looked up, catching sight of Nat sitting on the couch beside Jean. The dark-haired girl's eyes widened and she started to blush, looking away, suddenly very involved in watching Evan set up the DVD player on top of the TV. Kitty glimpsed Jean's face, and she scampered over to the unoccupied easy chair, leaving Kurt with only two seating options: alongside Nat on the sofa, or on the floor. Jean and Kitty both knew Kurt wouldn't want to insult Nat by taking the latter, and both girls were looking very pleased with themselves as Kurt made his way over to the couch.

He glanced at Nat, nodding hello, and she did the same before turning back to the screen as he took his seat, watching the previews with exaggerated interest. At the front of the room, Evan grinned and rubbed his palms together excitedly. He flopped down on the couch, squeezing in between Nat and Kurt, not noticing the livid glowers he was receiving from Jean and Kitty.

"I love this one. It's like 'Fern Gully', only on an acid trip."

Jean stood up and cleared her throat, heading for the kitchen. "I'm going to go get some sodas. _Evan_..."

He glanced up briefly, frowning around a mouthful of popcorn. "Wha'?"

"Come help me, won't you please?"

He grunted indignantly. "Can't somebody else do it? Ask Rogue! She doesn't like this movie, anyway." He dug back into the bowl for more popcorn.

Jean's voice was tough, hissing through clenched teeth. Kitty stifled a chortle. "I need someone with strong arms to help me with the cooler."

Evan, temporarily forgetting that Jean could simply lift the cooler with a thought, grinned despite himself and stood. "Okay, I'll help." He flexed his muscles briefly as he passed, and Rogue grimaced.

Kitty leaped to her feet and skipped into the kitchen on his heels, calling "Anybody want ice?" The kitchen door slipped shut behind her before anyone had a chance to reply. On the television screen, a young man astride some sort of weird elk-creature was fighting with what looked like a big blob of worms on the back of a giant pig. Nat stared, not really paying attention, although she might normally have been fascinated. Beside her, Kurt shifted back and forth in his seat, uncomfortable with the obscure clearing of the room.

At the other end of the couch, Scott was sitting perfectly still. He stood suddenly and stretched. "Bathroom break."

Rogue stared at him, bewildered. "The movie just started!"

He shrugged and continued on. From the kitchen, Jean's voice called, "Rogue! Would you mind helping us get the lid off this dip? It's sort of...stuck."

Throwing her hands into the air, Rogue stomped into the kitchen, fuming. "Oh, fer cryin' out loud! Ah just don't know what's wrong with ya'll!"

Nat and Kurt sat in silence for a good ten minutes, waiting for Scott to return from the restroom or the others to return with the food. There was no sound from anything but the television, until Nat cleared her throat and glanced at Kurt, blushing. "You think they're coming back anytime soon?"

A slow, tiny smile lit across Kurt's lips. "I don't think so."

"You think they did that on purpose?"

He nodded, his smile blossoming into a full-fledged grin. "I think they probably did." He laughed tensely.

Nat shook her head, but when she glanced at him her green eyes were sparkling, if not a bit nervous. "They really aren't very subtle."

This time, when Kurt laughed, it sounded clear and warm, not forced at all. "True, but at least they try."

"I guess _I_ could have tried a bit harder." Nat averted her gaze, and Kurt sighed but scooted closer, putting his arm over her shoulders lightly in a little half-hug. She turned her face and pressed it against his chest, squeezing her eyes shut to keep from crying. She sniffled, pulling back and looking up at him. "Kurt?"

"_Ja_?"

She gulped. "I'm really sorry."

"_Ja_, I know. Thank you, even though I'm not quite sure vy. So am I." He smiled warmly, and she threw her arms around his neck, embracing him tightly.

"I can't believe we've wasted an entire week by being so silly."

He paused, looking away. "I don't vant to vaste another, if that's okay vith you."

"What do you mean?" Nat frowned, trying to tip her head so she could meet his eyes. He glanced back at her, smiling slightly. She took note of the little wound on his forehead, the lip that still bore a thin, pale line where it had been split, and tried not to tremble.

"I don't vant to vaste another second, Nat." He leaned forward suddenly, slowly, and her eyes widened in shock as his lips brushed lightly against hers. She could feel the soft fuzz on his cheeks, the warm, faintly dry skin of his lips, and taste the salty tang there. She shivered, but melted against him. His hands were strong at the small of her back, and she could feel him breathing against her throat. It was a heady sensation, and the world went dark as her eyes drifted shut of their own accord. She wished that it would never end, but soon the two had to part for air, and he pulled away, smiling.

From the kitchen, they heard a tiny muffled coo, and the sound of someone clapping.


	22. Enter Magneto

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**Chapter Twenty-Two: Enter Magneto**

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It was difficult to pay attention to the teacher, no matter how hard he tried to make physics sound interesting. Nat sat in her seat at the farthest lab station from the front, drawing little pictures on the corners of her workbooks and, when the fancy struck her, occasionally writing her last name as "Wagner" like a sixth-grader with a crush, then blushing and scribbling it out with heavy black ink to keep herself from looking too silly.

The past week had been a deliciously satisfying one. Once the elation of her first real, romantic kiss had finally worn off (or simply become less novel, perhaps, as other kisses followed) she and Kurt had been closer than ever. They never spoke of the incident at the amusement park, which was only for Nat's benefit. She was beginning to believe that she, for the first time in her life, had an actual _boyfriend_. Not only that, her social standing among the other students had improved somewhat since her first day at Bayville High. She was still just another of those "Institute Freaks", but she was at least starting to make a few casual acquaintances outside of the mansion. Her closest friends were, of course, the X-Men, most notably Kurt, but she was no longer being stared at whenever she mentioned where she lived, and she had even been invited to a few events outside of school. She was still several light years shy of what one might consider popular, but true popularity had never been something that she particularly coveted in the first place.

The only restraint that kept Nat from feeling absolutely euphoric about the events of the week was the fact that Pietro still hadn't apparently gotten the message. He never spoke to her, or even approached her, but she got the constant irritating feeling that he was watching her in the commons, the library, or the hallways. She was able to ignore it for the most part, until one day when she got a rude wake-up call.

Nat was, as usual, ignoring the lecture from the nervous little teacher who spoke about Newton and Galileo for hours at a time, blue and green overhead ink smearing his bottom lip and his comb-over flapping excitedly. Faintly, she heard the door swing open and the footfalls of someone entering, but she was too engrossed in a drawing on the cover of her history book to respond when she saw movement approaching her lab station. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shape hover just a few inches away from her desktop, and felt a warm body slide into the seat beside her.

"Hey there, Fairbanks."

Nat glanced up, wearing an expression of surprise that quickly turned to contempt. "What now, Maximoff?"

Several nearby students turned and frowned at her loudness. He smiled, looking innocent, and lowered his voice to a sub-whisper. "I need a seat."

Nat stuck her nose as far in the air as she could without looking stupid, and turned away from him with a sniff, pulling her papers against her chest before he could notice the words "Natalie Elizabeth Wagner" scrawled across the top. "Sit on the floor, then."

"What kind of greeting is that for someone who's just trying to be nice to you?"

Nat glared at him, shooting daggers from her eyes. "When were you 'nice' to me, exactly? When you were insulting my friends and flatmates? Or when you were stalking me? And since _when_ are you in this class?"

He looked away, his forehead creased, and ignored her questions. "Look, I just wanted to...you know..."

"No. I don't."

"Well...to apologize."

Nat almost choked on her own tongue. Her eyes went wide, and she forgot to be quiet. "_What_?"

The same students as before turned and hissed at her, looking fierce, and she blushed under Pietro's steady gaze. He smirked. "_I wanted to apologize_, genius. For..." here he paused, forcing down a heavy swallow, "...trying to kiss you. That day at the book store."

She shook her head. "Think nothing of it." Her voice dripped with a thick coating of sarcasm, the only way she could think to cover her words to make them sound like she wasn't grateful for the apology. Damn him and his ratty little ways of undermining her attempts to hate him. Nat narrowed her eyes, turning back to her papers. Before she could think to cover them again, he leaned over her shoulder, glancing down at the desktop in front of her.

"'Natalie Wagner', huh? Should I be shopping for a wedding gift?"

She snatched up the papers and shoved them into her binder. "Shut up. It's none of your business, anyway."

He held up his palms, shaking his head slightly, defensively. "Hey, hey, hey! I was just kidding. Seriously, though...you and that little German guy are...an item?"

Nat rolled her eyes and stared at her hands, picking at her nail polish. "_Kurt_ and I are...good friends, yes."

He pressed in so his shoulder touched hers, and she shivered at the brief pressure. Her head was spinning with guilt at not pulling away immediately, and she tried to ignore him. She inched backward as he continued. "How good of friends?"

She whirled around and snapped, "_Very_ good friends, Pietro."

"Have you kissed him? Have you screwed?"

She stared at him for a long moment, still taken aback by his bluntness and the rapid pace of words flitting through his lips. "Well, even though you have absolutely no good reason to have any interest into what's going on in my personal life, yes. We've _kissed_." Nat took a brief, almost terrible pleasure at the sight of Pietro's averted eyes. "A _lot_."

There was a short pause. "Congratulations, then. I'm sure that the two of you make an adorable couple." He smiled slightly. "After all, a flame-thrower and a demon are a perfect match."

The bell rang, as if to enunciate his insult. Nat shoved him backward a bit so she could rise from her seat, and began loading her backpack haphazardly. "Agh! You're so infuriating!"

Pietro shrugged, shouldering his own bag and putting his thumbs through his belt loops, looking gallingly proud and sure of himself. "I try."

Nat left him standing there, her cheeks bright red as he watched her stomp angrily away. At the last minute, he whipped around the desks and grabbed her elbow, faster than anyone else could have taken a step. She tried to wrench it away, but to no avail. Nat was really getting tired of this.

"Let go of my arm, Pietro!"

"Hear me out first."

She glared at him, her words coming out in a little angry sputter. "Fine. Say what you have to say, then leave me the hell _alone_ for a while!"

"It's a deal."

"Fine then. _Say it_."

He let go of her arm and stared fixedly at her. She averted his gaze, but couldn't keep it up for long. "How'd you end up with the X-Men?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not this again...It's getting old, Maximoff."

"No, no, no. Let me finish. Why are you _here_, with Xavier's happy little boys and girls, rather than back at home? I'm sure there were places for you to stay in England. It's not a small place, really."

"What's your point?"

He shrugged, clasping his hands together. He knit his brow in thought, sarcasm virtually radiating off of him. "Well, I'm sure _you know what drove you here. But _I_'_m_ just not so positive."_

Nat felt her stomach tighten, her feet go leaden and cold. She didn't like his self-assured tone in the slightest. "Do you..."

"Do I know your secret? Yeah."

A thick knot of fear rose in her throat, threatening to drive her to tears. "H-how'd you find out?"

"Research, Nat, research. It wasn't too hard to figure out, after all, and the X-Men aren't the only ones with resources, or with friends in high places." He shook his head sadly, looking downtrodden. "I'm kind of surprised that they don't know, though, considering how very close you and Kurt have gotten over these past few weeks. Then again, what you did was pretty bad..."

She pushed down a wail, her words coming out in a rush almost comparable to Pietro's. "Professor Xavier _does_ know, so if you're threatening to try to drive me away from—"

"But do the rest of them know?"

She stared at him, eyes wide. Her very soul felt as if it were quivering to get out, but her body was slow, heavy, made of stone. "Are you actually saying that you're going to tell them?"

"Not really. Just trying to show you that _we aren't judgmental like that. The fact that you're afraid that I could tell them shows me a lot. You know as well as I do that they might never look at you the same way again if they knew what I know. You didn't just do something terrible, Fairbanks. You ran from it." He sneered. "Not quite what an X-Man would do, now is it?"_

Fury flared up inside Nat's chest, almost smothering the fear. "How can you really expect me to join you if I were to do so only through coercion? Wouldn't that create a few hard feelings that you don't need between 'team members'?"

"I'm not too worried about that. I think you could be pretty comfortable with us."

"What makes you assume that? If I'm not cut out to be an X-Man, who says I can make it as a mutant vigilante, or whatever the hell you think you are?"

She spun on her heel and stormed away, angry tears filling her eyes. Pietro grinned to himself and watched her retreating form for a moment before he went out into the hall, turning away from Nat's path and heading toward the cafeteria. He caught sight of Todd Tolensky and Freddy Dukes sitting together in the corner, flicking peas at one another across the tabletop. Pietro rolled his eyes and stifled a grimace.

Once he'd reached the table, he took the nearest chair and straddled it. He crossed his arms across the top and glared at his teammates, who were actively ignoring him. "Do you think we can have a single moment when the two of you aren't acting like complete morons?"

Fred glanced up, pretending to be surprised that Pietro was there. A glob of mashed potatoes whizzed past his head, and he caught it in midair, sending it sailing back to splatter across Todd's greasy T-shirt. "Hey there, Maxi."

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever." He raised a heaping spoonful of something green and steaming to his thick lips and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing loudly in great, sloppy smacks. Pietro, who was as slim as Fred was wide, stared at the sight of the massive arm hovering above the bowl and broad, blubbery wrists from which a spoon handle poked.

As Pietro stared at Fred, Todd was doing the same to Pietro. The younger boy pointed a banana at him, waving it slowly, accusingly. "Yo, Quicky." He grinned, as if he knew a secret. "I saw you there a few minutes ago, talkin' with that Fairbanks chick. Is Mystique sendin' you on spy missions an' leavin' us behind? Or are you just havin' fun lookin' at the pretty little girly-girl?"

Pietro's fair-skinned face went pink, and he snatched the banana out of the air, only to drop it on the table with a disgusted groan when he realized that it was covered in Todd's saliva. Todd grunted and his tongue shot out, snapping back into his mouth and allowing him to swallow the fruit, whole and unpeeled. He sucked air in through his teeth, and watched Pietro closely, waiting for a response.

"Actually, no, Tolensky. I was just doing my part. Something you might look into."

"I don't pull my weight around here, huh? Listen up: just 'cause you're the boss-man's little lapdog don't mean you're better 'an me, you know."

Pietro stood quickly, bracing himself against the table, fuming. Todd shrank back slightly, realizing that he may have gone just a bit too far. Students at nearby tables looked up, but pretty much ignored them. Pietro pressed his face in close to Todd's, his voice low. "Are you implying that I'm doing this for Magneto in particular? If you are, you're dead wrong. I just know how to get the job done better than anybody else at this table. Darkholme and Magneto know it as well as you do."

Fred gulped down his milk and crushed the cardboard carton in his palm, wiping his mouth on the back of his enormous hand. Beside him, Todd chewed on his tongue, but huffed out a little puff of air as if he were unconcerned. "Big Mag an' Mystique have really been interested in Xavier's newest recruit lately, an' you seem pretty damn eager to take her on as a project. That's all I meant."

Pietro flopped back into his chair, eyeing Todd ferociously. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Sure it is."

Fred laughed suddenly, loudly. He clapped Pietro on the back, almost sending the smaller mutant tumbling across the tabletop. "Ain't nothin' in it, Pietro. Toad's just havin' fun." He grinned viciously, and Pietro scowled up at the glistening bits of spinach lodged between Freddy's piano-key teeth. "An' if you _are_ just doin' it to get in good with the Fairbanks girl, I don't blame you. Not...at..._all_."

He roared with laughter and smashed his fist against the table, and Todd joined in, snorting joyously. Pietro just sat there, smoldering.

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As she made her way to the far end of the courtyard, Nat was pretty much absorbed in her own thoughts, reviewing the events of that morning's class period and the eventful passing time that followed, and she didn't notice when Kurt appeared beside her. He stared at her profile in amusement, watching her tense jaw, her creased forehead. Her eyes flashed with deep thought and her lips were a thin pink line.

"_Hallo_, Nat."

She didn't respond.

"Naaatalie..."

She whirled around to face him, looking almost angry, but her anger melted into surprise and she smiled sheepishly. He put his arm casually around her waist and started leading her toward a bench, pecking her quickly on the cheek and smiling generously at the sight of a slight blush creeping around her ears. He sat down and pulled his feet up under himself, but Nat went limp beside him, letting her body fall onto the seat as if she didn't have the energy to hold herself up any longer. Her dark hair tumbled around her face and created a chocolate-colored fan that brushed the ground. Trying his hardest to be discreet and gentlemanly about it, he briefly ogled the smooth expanse of creamy skin between her low collar and her chin. She released a long, woeful sigh, which jerked him back into reality.

He gave a little half-grin, eyebrows raised. "Bad morning?"

Nat glanced up at him. Her eyes were nebulous, a mass of conflicting emotions in their broken green depths. He noticed arbitrarily how much her eyes looked like a pool of water, sunlight playing speckled patterns of light across a mossy bottom. She sighed again, this one tempered with a smile. "Not great, but nothing I can't handle, I'm sure."

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Raven Darkholme sat back in her chair, watching the pens spin unheeded in the cup at the edge of her desk. She folded her hands lightly on the desktop, easing out a shaky breath and feeling eerily like a child squirming in her seat. Across the office, Eric Lensherr had settled himself in a chair and had his oddly shaped helmet propped on his knee. He ran his hands through his shock of white hair and his face looked momentarily haggard, the jaw line square but somewhat craggy. When he spoke, his voice displayed none of this wariness.

"What have you been able to discern about our friend's latest conquest, Mystique?"

"Not as much as I would have hoped, but she does look promising. Quicksilver has been able to get a brief demonstration of her abilities, and both of us think that she may be just the mutant we are looking for."

"Outstanding. Now, just how close are we to her?"

She sighed and rose to her feet, pacing back and forth in front of the window. The sunlight gleamed on her cerulean skin, glinting in her fiery hair. "That's the only source of trouble at the moment..."

"The 'only source'? Meaning 'not very close at all', I would imagine." She nodded, and Magneto's eyes flashed. He came forward in his chair, gripping the armrests. "This isn't good, Raven, not good at all. I know Xavier, and he won't give her up easily, even if he _doesn_'_t_ know how valuable she is."

Mystique's translucent blue eyes shimmered and went wide. She leaned slowly against the edge of the desk, holding herself up. "You think he doesn't know? How could that machine of his have missed it?"

"I'm quite sure he is unaware. Her powers are being wasted, withering away as she learns to _control_ them rather than to develop them to their full potential, so it might have been easy for the professor and Cerebro to miss them. If he knew just how important she is to us, he would never have risked sending her into your arms so austerely. No, Raven, there is a great deal more at work here than even Charles Xavier knows, and that _child_ is at the very center of it."


	23. Pup Tents and Pop Tarts and Pietro, Oh M...

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**Chapter Twenty-Three: Pup Tents and Pop Tarts and Pietro, Oh My!**

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Nat yawned and stretched, her eyes drifting shut again. The sun streaming in through the windows was making the room warmer and warmer even though it wasn't much later than six in the morning. Still, she was too lazy to make the move to pull the cord on the curtains, or to switch on the air conditioner. Outside, a lethargic haze of pollen danced on a late spring breeze, and down the road, she watched a group of children racing along Graymalkin Lane on bicycles. She sighed, letting her head fall over the edge of the bed in an attempt to ease the bunched muscles at the base of her skull.

The nightmares were back. Not the same nightmares as before, but a whole new set, with a whole new theme. The worst part was that they weren't _really_ nightmares, just dreams that she didn't want to be having, which is essentially the same thing…

She was thinking about Pietro.

For several nights in a row now, the white-haired mutant had intruded upon her dreams with more intensity than he had ever intruded into her personal space in the real world, and she was beginning to worry about her mental stability.

The dreams always started the same way. Nat was waiting for something, sitting on a wooden bench on the sidewalk, like the ones set up at bus stops. It was a hot day, reminiscent of the weather that had started to creep in lately, and the air was wavering as if the landscape were a painting or a tile collage at the bottom of a swimming pool. For some reason, she was dressed entirely in heavy black clothes from collar to feet, which were obscurely bare. Her toenails were painted with glittery polish, and she occupied herself for some time by staring at them in boredom, propping her ankles on the edge of the seat to get a better look. Sweat was dampening her neck and face, and her hair clung to her temples.

She sat there waiting for what felt like hours, feeling faintly nauseated as heat permeated her body. Drowsiness began to stalk up on her, and she closed her eyes just in time to hear Kurt's voice. She turned and smiled, the disgusting heat beating down a little less harshly now, and saw Kurt beside her, wearing his holowatch. Always, they greeted each other warmly with a kiss, but his lips felt strange, and when she said as much he smiled oddly and patted his watch, his outward appearance shimmering and melting away. Nat was terrified at what she saw.

It wasn't the familiar, comforting, blue-furred face that she hoped to see, but the slightly sneering face of Pietro, Kurt's voice still passing through his lips. He, in a voice that seemed so wrong to hear from his mouth, spoke of things she'd heard Pietro say many times before, things she had tried to forget, things that riled her blood. Her heart went from angry to sad to interested and back again in seconds. She felt a terrible ache rise up within her, an outpouring of thought and feeling that swelled forward from the broken dike of her mind. Nat tried to pull away, but stumbled and was caught by his arms and pulled back onto the seat. He cradled her against his chest in a way that made her not _want_ to try to flee, somehow anchoring her into what felt like reality. Her head was hot with a feverish sweat, her heart pounding in her ribs, but the solid feeling of Pietro against her back was more appealing than the swaying, tumbling world beyond that bench.

And here, as always, she would awake, and her body would quake with sorrow, with fear. Nat told herself over and over that it was simply a harmless dream, her subconscious scrapping together elements of her life into a patchwork quilt of truth and delusion. It wasn't Pietro that attracted her, or even his words. It was the ideas that he presented, and the alternate vision of the future that he served to her on a less than silver platter. And ideas can be squelched, left behind and forgotten. That was her goal. She wasn't a member of the Brotherhood, and had no plans to become one, as she had told him so many times, but she still was not beyond the doubts that loitered so heavily in the recesses of her mind.

She was comfortable at the mansion, with her friends. Professor Xavier was an almost fatherly figure, a teacher and benefactor of the caliber that Nat had never known before. The other students treated her like family, and she knew for the first time what it was like to care for someone and, at the same time, be irritated to the bone by them. And then, of course, there was Kurt, by far her closest companion at the institute. She knew that at that very moment he was probably just waking up, and would be in soon to make sure that she didn't spend the entire day in bed. 

A quick rapping at the door interrupted her mental rambling, and confirmed her thoughts of Kurt. She smiled, her thoughts mostly abandoned, and tossed the blankets off of her, sitting cross-legged and stretching. She yawned widely, calling for him to come in.

Nat and the other students, under the watchful eye of Logan, were planning a camping trip for the long weekend. She had packed the night before and left her bags in the foyer, as Logan had ordered, but she still felt strange, as if she had forgotten something, or something odd was going on. No matter. It was probably just the damn dreams.

Kurt appeared at the foot of her bed, leaping over the headboard. Playfully frightened, Nat shrieked and scrambled away, smacking her elbow on the bedside table but too engrossed in their usual game to notice. He landed on her, knocking her off the edge of the bed with a yelp and pinning her to the floor, his tail slashing happily at the air.

"_Wie__ geht's_? Vy are you still lying around, you lazy thing?"

Nat laughed and shoved him off of her, rubbing her elbow. "'Cause that's what we lazy things do." She yawned again and stretched, propping her back up against the side of the bed and rubbing the bottoms of her bare feet against the rug. "Do you have all your things packed?"

"_Ja_, but I need to give you something so your face von't get burned at the lake. It's very sunny there, you know." He pulled a small wad of fabric out from behind his back and shook it out, donning it ceremoniously on Nat's head. It was a red baseball cap, faded and worn. She recalled the memory of the boy at the store outside of Hawthorne, and the fluttery, happy feeling of being cared for, and cared _about_. So much could be symbolized in a baseball cap. "There. Now you are ready to go."

Nat glanced skeptically down at her bare legs sticking out of the bottom of her oversized t-shirt. "I'm not wearing any pants. Logan might have a problem with me going camping in my underwear."

"That's okay, _mein__ Flamme_. You are ready to go to my room…"

He leaped forward again, attacking her face and neck with kisses. She slapped at his shoulder, laughing, but put up no real struggle.

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Darkholme watched Lensherr closely as he gathered his jacket and made his way to the door. She tapped a long, pointed fingernail absently on the disk she had received, eyeing her computer vaguely. He seemed almost in a rush, as if he was running late for a meeting.

He paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder at her, drawing the collar of his jacket up around his face. "Get this going as soon as possible, Raven. I've been looking for this mutant for a long time, and if we have to spend another twenty years trying to get hold of her, _you_ will be held responsible. Needless to say, I won't be pleased."

Mystique swallowed. "Of course. I'm working on it. I think Pietro might actually be making some progress with her. Last time he reported to me, he'd been able to rattle her cage a bit, so to speak. She knows that Pietro is privy to some rather…delicate information regarding her past."

"I appreciate his efforts, but keep in mind that if he fails, it will be your head. This is _your_ mission, Mystique, not the boy's. I'm sure you understand." Magneto's nostrils flared slightly.

She nodded curtly, feeling oddly as if there was a strange sort of liquid-filled bubble just behind her eyes, and Magneto gave her a cold look and turned, disappearing down the hallway. With a loud exhale, the now dark-haired woman dropped into her seat, still fiddling inattentively with the disk, and decided that she might as well get this started as soon as she could. She typed in her password and opened the drive, waiting patiently for the file to appear.

Raven leaned against her palm, cursing the inventors of slow computer drives and pondering the circumstances. It wasn't good to have Magneto mad at her, this she knew all to well, but the situation warranted more consideration than what was provided by a simple order from the boss. There were F.O.H. agents in town, more than there had been in months, and a heightened level of danger lurked for all the mutants in Bayville and the surrounding areas.

Since the incident with her son at the amusement park a few weeks before, Mystique had kept an eye out for more agents, and it seemed that they were having some sort of unofficial convention. To Mystique's relief, she had heard nothing of an appearance by the founder of the F.O.H., her other son Graydon Creed, so in all likelihood they would clear out by the end of the month. Until then, the Brotherhood and X-Men alike were potential targets. Powers had to be kept low for a while, whenever possible used only in private. Both teams were always careful to keep their identities under wraps to avoid such confrontations, but now it was all the more vital. This being the case, it was going to be more difficult than Magneto knew to get hold of the girl.

The F.O.H. were, in Mystique's eyes, senseless bigots whose purpose lies only in being a nuisance, but even the most juvenile of minds can, when gathered in large numbers, create a hazard.

Besides that, Mystique was even farther from Fairbanks than she had indicated. With Tolensky, Alvers and the others, she had simply been the first to seriously approach them to join her team, the first to appeal to their own personal beliefs and desires. Rogue had been an embarrassing failure, having left the Brotherhood to join Xavier's little troupe. Natalie, on the other hand, had never been a member of the Brotherhood, and seemed to be quite comfortable where she was. She had been at the institute for weeks now, becoming acclimatized to Xavier and, perhaps most damaging of all, to the other students. Toad had told her, although Pietro was yet to mention it, that she was even romantically involved with Nightcrawler, a revelation that both irritated and intrigued Mystique.

When the file opened, she read silently for a moment, her eyes widening and her jaw set. Since when was Magneto a follower of ridiculous things like prophecies?

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. However, there was merit in such things much more often than most people realized. What of the Crimson Gem of Cyttorak, after all? A red stone and what sounded like a bunch of ancient mumbo-jumbo had granted Cain Marko incredible strength and near indestructibility, creating the force known as the Juggernaut.

Mystique narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, hunching her shoulders as if to shield the screen from prying eyes. If this was correct, and it certainly appeared that it was...well, it was no wonder that Lensherr wanted the girl. She could be invaluable.

He was right about one thing: there was a lot going on here.

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Logan stood back, eyeing the back of the hulking van with a measure of satisfaction. Not his preferred method of transit, but it would do. They had managed to force enough supplies for a month into the back of the overcrowded vehicle, much to Wolverine's original protest, but Ororo had convinced him that it was best to be prepared. Actually, "convince" wasn't quite what she had done; it was more like blackmail, last time he'd checked. _Lousy Weather Witch_, he thought, suppressing a chuckle.

He pulled his dirty cowboy hat down so it shaded his eyes from the sun, hopping into the front seat and letting it lean backward, crossing his ankles on the dashboard. The plastic hula girl wiggled and bobbed indignantly, her artificial grass skirt swaying. Logan popped it off of the dash and flung it out the window to land in the flower patch, then cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed.

"_Hey_! You brats comin' or what?"

Scott was the first to arrive, his red shades gleaming in the sunlight. Jean was close behind, wearing khakis and sunglasses of her own, her red hair pulled back into a braided knot at the top of her long, swanlike neck. Logan, with a jolt, reminded himself that she was barely nineteen, and therefore totally off-limits. Once those two were squared away, Evan and Rogue piled in. Evan looked as happy as Logan had ever seen him, grinning and chatting about pitching a tent and going fishing. Rogue had cheered up considerably at the prospect of getting out of Bayville for the first time in months, and actually looked as if she might be able to sit next to Evan without popping him on the nose. Kitty showed up with yet another suitcase, which turned out to be filled with novels, and was slathering her arms and legs with sun block, going on and on about the dangers of UV rays. It took them an additional quarter of an hour to figure out if they had everything they needed and to pick their seats.

D_amn city kids_, was Logan's only coherent thought. Well, the only coherent thought that was not flooded out by a stream of swear words and other vulgarities.

He had just put the key into the ignition and was ready to go when someone bravely asked, "Where are Nat and Kurt?"

Logan slapped the steering wheel, snarling, "If the Elf and his little girlfriend don't get their hides out here in two minutes, I'm leavin' without 'em, and I ain't kiddin'!"

Jean smiled slightly to herself, and closed her eyes. She raised a finger to her temple in thought, then looked up at him with a grin directed toward the rearview mirror. "They're coming, Logan."

Kurt and Nat came clattering down the front porch steps, looking somewhat disheveled. Kurt's hair was a bit mussed, and Nat was blushing as if she'd been caught doing something naughty. She wore faded, torn denim on her legs and a black T-shirt, her dark ponytail sticking out the back of a faded red baseball cap that Logan vaguely recognized. They walked close to each other, their hands clasped together, and Logan rolled his eyes at the sight.

"Get yerselves in, or stay behind and help Storm repot everythin' in the greenhouse!"

The two mutant teens exchanged a glance, and crammed themselves into the van.

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Nat felt much the way Evan did about this experience, only with that touch of awe one feels when they are rediscovering a childhood pastime. She stared out the window in wonder, watching the hills and the sea of rolling, green-topped trees sailing past. Occasionally they would pass a small roadside shop or a hotel, and much more often she'd catch sight of rocky outcroppings and cliffs at the side of the road, but other than that there was little that broke the steady green theme of the scenery. It was a perfect day for setting out on a camping trip, warm and breezy with a clear sky and a good weather forecast. Of course, if the weather ended up turning bad, all it would take was a phone call back to Storm to clear away the clouds.

Beside her, Kurt wore an amused expression. "You look like you've never seen trees before, _Liebchen_."

Nat smiled and squirmed in her seat, moving slightly to the right so her thigh leaned against Kurt's. "I'm just excited, that's all. I haven't been camping since I was a little kid, and never anywhere quite this…wild."

He laughed and caught her hand. "Vell, I'll try to keep that in mind. Ven ve get to the lake, you stay by me," he winked at her, "und I'll protect you from the bears und mountain lions."

Nat's eyes went as wide as saucers, but Kurt's face remained solemn. "_Mountain lions_?"

On the other side of Kurt, Kitty elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Don't listen to him, Nat. He's got, like, problems with reality." She grinned at Kurt. "As if _you_ could keep away any wild animals."

Kurt's brow wrinkled, his bottom lip sticking out slightly, but his eyes were laughing. "I'm hurt, Kitty. I vas just—"

There was a sudden, loud bang and a bone-rattling jolt, lurching the students forward. The back of the van popped open and their supplies spilled across the pavement. Nat's forehead collided with the back of the seat in front of her, her safety belt biting deeply into her waist with force enough to bruise. She heard someone squeal, and saw Kitty phase through the Scott's seat and land at the older boy's feet. There was a piercing screech of balding tires and a flash of sparks outside of Nat's window that made her scream. The van pitched backward as it collided with a ledge of rocks at the side of the road, and spun for a few seconds, coming to a stop with its front bumper leaning against the railing. A few pieces of well-placed concrete and steel were the only things that kept their vehicle from plummeting two-hundred feet over the cliff. All was still and quiet.

Nat slowly raised her head and looked around. Kurt was wide-eyed and shocked, and Kitty was shaking her head as if to reorganize her jostled brain cells. Rogue was clutching the door handle, her fair-skinned face now as white as paper. Evan had his arms wrapped tightly around the back of Logan's seat, and Scott and Jean were grasping at one another's hands in terror. Even Logan looked surprised, and sat in stunned silence. That is, until the silence was broken by his angry cursing. He jumped out of the van and walked around to the side, surveying the damage. The thin glass of the side window was the only thing that separated Nat from the seething mass of fury that was their chaperone.

"Son of a God damned bitch! How the hell are we supposed ta fix this without the blasted spare tire?" He swung around, glaring at Evan. "I thought I told you to put it back in after you finished loading all your damn bags!" Evan shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Logan grunted and kicked at a pile of stones, sending them clattering down the cliff. Kurt squeezed Nat's hand and they wriggled out of the seat, clambering out of the van with the others and looking out over the road. Evan gaped, and Rogue stood silently, her arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head. Scott was on his cell phone, presumably calling Storm to come with the Blackbird or a new vehicle for escape, and Jean hung by his side, looking stunned.

"Fuck!" Logan shouted.

Several tents had been freed, and one was open, spreading its great nylon wings across the pavement. Three or four bags had fallen out, and one had torn a zipper. Kitty was hurriedly scampering about, trying to gather up her strewn underwear and socks, and Nat set out to help her. The cooler had popped its hinge, and a shiny patch of ice was littered with packages. A loaf of bread had been torn open, much to the delight of the birds that were already approaching, and a box of strawberry toaster pastries had lost its contents as well. Kurt groaned and slapped his forehead.

"_Verflucht_! _Mein_Pop Tarts!"

Scott snapped his cell phone shut and shook it lightly. "Battery's dead. I guess I forgot to charge it." He shrugged, looking sheepish. A smile spread across his face just as Logan whirled around to face him, and he pointed down the road. "We might not have to bother Storm after all. Here comes a car. They should have a spare we could buy off of them, or something."

Indeed, a large, hunter green sports utility vehicle came skidding down the road, coming to a screeching halt only a few yards away. The windows were tinted, and as the driver's side window came sliding down with a little mechanized whir, Nat felt herself go cold. She stopped dead in the middle of the road, dropping a pair of Kitty's socks onto the pavement and taking a few erratic steps backward. Kitty glanced at her in irritated surprise, but when she looked up her own mouth popped open in shock. Kurt went rigid, glaring. Logan was just shaking his head, and Jean looked conflicted.

Evan was the first to speak, with a heartfelt, "Aw, man…"

Leaning his head out of the window, his elbow resting casually on the door, was Pietro. He was smirking widely, and jerked his head back to indicate the spare tire mounted on the back of the truck. In the passenger seat beside him, Lance Alvers was bobbing his head to the sound of their deafening stereo. Nat felt sick to her stomach. This trip was supposed to be her chance to stop thinking about him!

"Well, well, well. Looks like you're pretty lucky that we were drivin' through…"


	24. Facing Frontward, Stabbing Back

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"True friends stab you in the front."

-_Oscar Wilde_

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: Facing Frontward, Stabbing Back**

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"Well, that oughta do it." Pietro stood up and stepped away from the tire, glancing down to admire his handiwork. He dusted his hands on his lean thighs and shot Logan a sideways, derisive glance. His reward was a frown in return and a grunt of irritation.

"You done with that yet, kid?"

"Yep." He grinned with exaggerated zeal, tipping an imaginary cap. Logan ignored him.

Still waiting in the truck, Lance had cranked the stereo's volume knob upward and was shouting something incomprehensible at his companion. He was apparently as unhappy to be there as the X-Men were to have him there. Logan's charges were scattered around the area, all fairly close to the van. Evan had propped himself up on the overturned cooler, now repacked, and was bobbing his head under a pair of massive headphones. Kitty was cross-legged on the van's open tailgate, reading, and Rogue was just standing around, looking bored. Scott and Jean were talking between themselves, tossing furtive glances in the direction of the unwanted truck and its uninvited passengers.

From the side of the road, Nat watched Pietro working, her face burning with an ambiguous embarrassment. He caught her eye and winked, but she turned away and stared at the rocky, leaf-strewn hillside instead, face turned downward. Not far away, Kurt kicked lightly at a little gathering of stones, and the sound of them scattering on the pavement startled her. She looked up and blushed, trying her hardest to smile, and he came forward and slipped her hand inside his.

"It's going to take them a little vile longer to make sure that everything is packed again."

Nat jerked her head, coming back to reality. "Then we ought to go help them, don't you think?"

"Maybe not now, _Liebchen_." He stepped in closely, lowering his voice and his chin so they stood securely and quietly, isolated from the rest of the group. He rubbed her bare arms, peculiarly cold in the warm midday sunshine.

"Are you alright?"

Nat pressed her lips together, tasting her chapstick, an oddly fruity, chemically taste of raspberries. "Yeah…yeah, I think so," she said, not quite meeting his gaze.

His head cocked to one side, making his straight, dark hair brush against his shoulders. When he spoke, his eyes were gentle, but his tone was firm. "Vat is it that bothers you so much, Nat? About Pietro? I've seen the vay you react at school ven he's around, and you're doing it again now."

So. He'd suspected that something was wrong, and God only knew how long he'd already _been_ suspecting. Her body stiffened almost imperceptibly, and his hand tightened around her palm so her fingernails made little moon-shaped grooves in the tender skin. She watched his face for a moment, searching each curve and hollow and rough place for the response that she was supposed to give, but found nothing but his genuine, skeptical eyes, inspecting.

_You can_'_t tell him_, her mind warned sternly. _If you tell him that Pietro knows about your secret, he_'_ll want to know what it is_,_ too_. Inwardly, she rolled her mental eyes at herself. _Of course_.

Awkwardly, she smiled, making the lemony face from the island but dipping it in the sugar of necessity, of compassion. "Nothing, really. I guess I'm just not used to having enemies." The smile brightened faintly, looking somehow sad and amused at the same time. "At least, not _officially_."

She was placated with a mild grin, offered up after only a moment of hesitation, and her heart twisted behind her ribs and dropped down past her stomach, settling between her feet. Only Kurt could smile at her with such good intentions, and make her feel as if she'd shot a puppy knowing that his smile was one composed of the ingredients of her own dishonesty. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Kurt turned, and, being blocked by his body, Nat couldn't see who it was that had approached them. She could guess who it was by the sight of the cordlike muscles at the base of Kurt's neck tightening. She leaned to the side to look around him, and saw Pietro standing a few meters away. He waved at her, and she glared in return, as if she were trying to drain her body of all her animosity in one quick stare.

He stepped forward, stuffing his hands into his pockets and smiling lopsidedly. "You think Nat and I can have a few minutes alone to talk, Wagner?"

Kurt glanced at Nat, trying to gauge her reaction, surprised to see her looking more angry than nervous. Her brow was creased, and her hands had balled into taut little fists. She nodded shortly, not taking her eyes off of Pietro, and Kurt stepped uncertainly away, keeping hold of her wrist for several more seconds before tentatively heading off toward the van. He walked slowly.

As the retreating mutant gradually left earshot, Pietro stepped closer to Nat and slipped his hands from his pockets. He touched her forearms lightly and guided her slightly resisting body to a spot just around the bend in the road, out of view of the others, and sat down on a large, asymmetrical rock. He stuck his legs out as if he were lounging, crossing them at the ankles. Nat remained standing, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. "Have you given any thought to what we talked about in our last conversation, Flamethrower?"

Her eyes rolled, unintentionally. "Oh, shut up, you annoying little shit."

Pietro laughed throatily, surprised and somehow pleased. "Well, I _never_! We certainly are feisty today, aren't we?" He pouted a bit. "I have to say, this isn't the Nat Fairbanks I know and love."

"What do you know about me, _really_? All I know about _you_ is that you have a problem knowing when to let things go."

"Maybe, but I know a _lot_ about you."

"Thanks for reminding me. I'd almost forgotten." Her tone dripped sarcasm. She narrowed her eyes into little green slits, glaring.

He frowned. "I would have thought that you'd be a little nicer to me, Natalie. Especially considering the sensitive state of the things I know. Maybe you and I should share your tragic story with Kurt so he can _comfort_ you."

Nat rubbed her palms together at waist level to muffle the prickling burn that seeped between her fingers and threatened to escape. Pietro noticed, but seemed unfazed. "At this point, I don't give a damn what you do. Tell him, tell all of them, if you really want to. Just knock it off and stop bothering me."

She stared at him, channeling all her body's ardor into her expression, but he called her bluff. "I don't believe you. If you didn't care about them knowing, this whole thing wouldn't bother you so much. And you _are_ bothered, no matter how much you try to pretend that you're not." She was silent, raging, motionless. He continued, unabashed. "Just try to remember that with us, with _me_, it doesn't really matter if you've got a past. Secrets are secrets." Here there was a pause, his voice dropping a shade. "Maybe your sanctimonious friends call us the 'bad guys' or whatever, but at least we don't judge our own."

Her laugh was a bitter sound. She raised her hands to the sky, as if appealing to God. "Oh, heaven forbid! All you judge is humanity's value to _you_, and whether or not the rest of the human race is worth your _precious_ time and effort."

His eyes flashed, but he remained composed. "And they don't judge us?"

"Yes, of _course_ they do! But it's people like those that _you_ work for that give them a reason to doubt our intentions, and to fear us."

"What about your darling little Nightcrawler, huh? Did _he_ give them a reason to try to crack his skull open on the pavement?"

Had she been an animal, foam may have been sprayed from her flailing, clenching jaw. Now, her flames should have been the last of his worries, as she was feeling quite ready and eager to claw off his face with her bare hands. "You disgusting, deceitful bast—"

In a rush of cool air, he was off the rock and against her. There was a flash of green in his vision, her surprised eyes, open wide to the world for a long moment before they fluttered closed like moths coming to rest on her cheeks. He clutched her fingers between them, holding them tightly and pressing his thumbs into her palms. His lips were hot and dry, like manuscript paper or onion skin, but hungrily searching, questioning, pliant. She felt her body tense, her muscles cry out in sudden terror, and she tried to wrench away. It lasted only a second, this indifferent struggle, before she went slightly limp, and then pressed back with an equal intensity. The washed out red hat was knocked from her head, and landed somewhere in a small, dense thicket of brambles not far away.

A searing iron spike pierced her ribs, as memory and conscience took over. Nat's palms, resting against his chest, pushed him backward, hard, and she stood there, trembling and panting. Her eyes were wide, her fingertips pressed to her lips as if to indent them back into her face, to stamp out and obliterate some dirty deed committed there. Her body staggered backward in a search of a breath, and the world wavered under water. She felt herself tilt, go out of alignment, and he tried to take her by the shoulders, to steady her. As the scenery writhed, she saw his strangely concerned face, his tense jawbone.

"Nat! Are you okay?"

"N-no…I can't do this…just leave me alone."

"Look, I didn't mean to upset you. You kissed back, and I thought you—"

"What's goin' on over here?" A gruff voice interrupted Pietro's wheedling attempts at an apology, but Nat caught a glimpse of his baffled, regretful expression as a foreign arm reached in and yanked her out of his reach. There, Logan's compact, hairy body was poised for attack, or at least for a bit of teenager-slappin'. She stared at the ground, knowing they'd been spotted, unable to tear her eyes away from her untied shoelaces.

Logan glared at Pietro, pausing only to shoot an equally venomous but slightly confused glance in Nat's direction. When he spoke again, his tone was low and brusque, full of authority. He jabbed a finger at the young man's chest. "You. Get yer skinny ass in that truck and haul it outta here. Yer friend's music makes my head hurt, an' I don't much like _you_ either."

Pietro paused, glancing at Nat for confirmation, hoping that she would tell the seething man that he hadn't been hurting her, that she had responded to his advances, if not immediately then quickly thereafter. Nat, on the other hand, was just praying that Logan hadn't figured that out on his own. The younger man frowned, watching her for any sign that she was going to react. Uttering a dejected, irritated huff of sound that wasn't quite a sigh or a word, he vanished in a streak of color as he returned to the truck. The sound of the vehicle peeling out screeched in the mountain air. Logan turned to Nat, eyes sporadically flickering back and forth between incensed and perplexed.

"An' _you_…"

She bit her tongue, tasting coppery blood and trying not to wince. Her voice was tiny, even in the silence. "Yes?"

"What the hell was _that_ all about?"

Tears filled her eyes, wanted to fall, but she tightened her throat and choked back the whimper that meant to pull through her body. She blinked hard, and met Logan's questioning face, chin wobbling. "I…don't know." He stared at her for a long, heavy moment, the air between them shimmering with tangible bewilderment. She felt vacant, sapped. The universe had come unraveled, and lay in disjointed portions on the spongy forest floor beneath her right foot, while her thoughts lay numbly on the pavement beneath the left. "I just don't know."

He sighed, a low, slow, tired sound. His hazel eyes, which sometimes looked brown and other times blue, were a decidedly cloudy shade at the moment. "Let's go. I don't wanna get to camp too late."

He turned on heavy feet and tromped away, his footsteps making what seemed to Nat to be a glowing trail on the ground. She took a deep, shaking breath, and followed him back to the others.


	25. To See Through the Dust

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"He that came seeing, blind shall he go…Go in, and think on this. When you can prove me wrong, then call me blind."

-_Sophocles_

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**Chapter Twenty-Five: To See Through the Dust**

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Kitty snapped her bubblegum and let her foot trail across the water's surface. She wrapped her arm around her calf, leaning her chin on her knee and looking as if she were lost deeply in thought. Beside her, Nat lay on her stomach on the end of the dock, absently playing with a stick that floated on the water. She seemed distracted, far away. Jean was swimming in slow, lazy laps back and forth in front of the dock, her hair spreading around her like a scarlet cloud.

It hadn't been long since the so-called "chance" meeting with Pietro and Lance. Once their surprise visitors were gone and the damaged tire had been replaced, a very frustrated and annoyed van-full of X-Men continued on their way, setting up camp only a few hours behind their original schedule, their equipment a bit scuffed and dirty but otherwise none the worse for wear.

The girls, save Rogue, had taken their chance to get out to the water. Now, all three were enjoying the sunshine and the lake, clad in brightly colored bathing suits. Atop her head, Nat wore the ratty red baseball cap, hastily retrieved from the roadside thicket. Kitty eyed it warily.

"Why are you still wearing that hideous thing? He's not around to see it, you know."

From the water, a passing Jean slapped lightly at Kitty's knee and gave her a withering look, but disappeared beneath a small wave and swam away before Kitty could retaliate. Nat rolled onto her back and held up a hand to shade her face from the sun. "I don't know. I just like it, I guess."

"Well, if you ask me, he could've gotten you flowers or something rather than giving you his, like, used headwear."

The dark-haired girl shrugged and grinned. "It's the thought that counts, Kit. It wasn't really meant as a _gift_-gift. Just…I don't know, a niceness-gift. He wasn't out to impress me."

Kitty snorted, smiling crookedly. "_That_'_s_ for sure."

They stayed that way for a long time, companionably silent. Kitty kicked and splashed in the water a little, spraying Nat's shoulders with cool droplets, while Jean glided past. Nat shivered but laid still, eyes drifting shut drowsily. Rubbing her eyes, she propped herself up on her elbows and glanced down the shoreline, where several of the others had unfurled their fishing poles. "You think the guys have caught anything over there?"

With a breathy sigh, Kitty rose to her feet and stretched. "I hope not. Fish is disgusting. Anyway, we'd probably better head to camp." Nat nodded, and Jean ignored them both. Kitty cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. "We're heading back!"

Down the shore a ways, the small figures that were really Scott and Kurt waved in agreement, and moved to start packing up their poles and the foam cooler. Kitty and Nat rolled their towels into little bundles and pulled on their shorts, waiting for Jean to drag herself onto the dock. The three walked slowly down the shore to meet the others, still dripping and relishing the feel of an early, summery breeze on their damp skin, and from there they turned onto the trail that would lead them back to camp. Scott had hoisted the cooler onto his shoulder, and Jean sidled up beside him, nonchalantly easing the load slightly with a touch of teke.  
As they neared the clearing in which they had set up their tents and cooking area, Nat cautiously slipped her wet, silty hands into Kurt's mildly fish-scented ones. He grinned and started happily swinging his fishing pole, grasping her fingers in return. She'd been quiet on the ride to the campsite, apparently troubled by the talk she'd had with Pietro, and neither Jean nor Logan said much either. Kurt didn't ask questions, just sat beside her all the way, silently acting as her brace.

Kurt knew as well as Jean did that there was something wrong, but tried not to show it. This was his way. Let her feel bad about whatever was bothering her, don't push her for information, and stand silently by, ready to listen if she were to change her mind. So far, she hadn't, but when she took his hand things seemed to be getting back on the right track. He leaned in close, smelling the clean scent of water and clay from the lake bottom on her skin, wanting to pull her close but restrained by the prying eyes of the others nearby. Instead, he winked at her, nuzzling her neck a little so she began to blush.

"I like your hat, _mein Flamme_."

She grinned. "Oh, thanks. A good friend gave it to me."

A few yards away, Kitty rolled her eyes, and Jean ignored them all, turning the attention back to the contents of the cooler. "Catch anything good?"

Scott grinned and patted the side of the large foam box as they rounded the edge of camp, unaware that Jean had been helping him. He eased the cooler down beside the campfire, and the group scattered to their various spots of comfort. "A couple of good sized trout. Definitely enough for dinner, as long as Logan decides to share."

Kitty ignored Scott's joke and screwed up her face, sticking out her tongue as she hopped onto the seat of an old, weathered picnic table, leaving enough space for Nat beside her. "There'd better be something other than dead animals to eat, or I'm going on a hunger strike."

Exiting a nearby tent in which she had spent the afternoon napping, Rogue joined Kitty and Nat at the table and gave Kitty a peculiar look. "We're only gonna be out here for three days, Kitty. Ah'm pretty sure you can survive that long without your tofu an' iced tea."

The younger girl cocked her head to the side, placing her hands on her hips in irritation. "That's so totally beside the point! It's the principle of the matter, and this is, like, completely unprincipled!"

Evan laughed, popping the top of a soda can and taking an enormous gulp. "Careful, Rogue. Make her mad, and you better duck and cover, 'cause the Vengeance of Valley Girl has begun!"

Kitty stamped her foot, her little white hands twisted into fists. "For the last time, I am _not_ a valley girl! I'm from New York, for God's sake!"

Nat laughed despite herself, trying to block her grin with a water bottle by pretending to take a sip. As she tried to turn the tide of conversation away from Kitty's valley girl-esque mannerisms, Evan and Kitty continued to bicker beside her, so she turned to the next available conversationalist: Rogue. "Where's Logan?"

The auburn-haired girl shrugged, coiling a strand of that odd white streak around her gloved finger. "He said he was goin' out for a walk about an hour ago. Ah think he'll be back soon. He wouldn't wanna miss supper, after all."

From the edge of camp, Scott held up a large, scaly fish that shimmered in its silvery skin, and tapped it with the blade of a small knife. "Speaking of supper, anybody who helped catch the fish better get over here and help me gut them." Kurt sauntered over, patting Nat's shoulder on the way. As the guys began the dinner preparations by slicing open the fish, Kitty squealed and made a fake gagging motion. Rogue rolled her eyes and grabbed a fish from the cooler, snatching one of the pocket knives and setting to work to emphasize her point.

"Oh, please. Ah've had tah gut a lot worse, ya baby."

Kitty cringed and turned up her nose at the thought, harrumphing indignantly under her breath. "That's not a _good_ thing, Rogue!"

The sun had begun to dip below the tops of the trees, bathing the forest and the clearing in a golden haze. Tired of waiting for Wolverine to return, Scott put the fish on the fire, letting them spit and sizzle on the heavy iron skillets. Nat, still seated at the picnic table, felt a movement beside her, which turned out to be Kurt sitting down. He smiled at her, and she returned the gesture, letting him drape his arm casually over her shoulder. Her eyes, tired after a long day, closed, and she leaned her head back to rest on his shoulder.

The sound of dishes rattling returned her to reality, and when she opened her eyes Logan was just reappearing at the edge of the camp, lured out of the sheltering near-darkness of the forest by the smell of food. He caught her eye, and she averted her gaze quickly, feeling ashamed and more than a little embarrassed.

She could feel Kurt's warm breath on her neck, slow and steady, and his strong hands looped around her and clasped at the waist. Her body went taut at the sight of Logan, memories of her earlier transgressions flooding back, and she had to fight to resist the urge not to fidget. Logan's gaze was strong, staring at her until he felt that she was sufficiently discomfited, as if searching for evidence of some further lapse in proper behavior. Kurt gave her a quick squeeze, kissing her briefly on the cheek and releasing her to go fix their plates.

As he let go and walked toward the fire, where Evan was serving the food, she shivered at the strange coolness of the empty air where his body had been. Jean was watching her, looking confused.

_There_'_s definitely something odd going on with that one_, Jean thought to herself. Nat always reacted so strangely to Pietro, and today had been even more illustrative of the fact. Jean knew that the younger girl harbored an intense desire to hear Pietro's side of things, which was beginning to worry her. Of course, there was no reason to think that Nat would actually join the Brotherhood, or even seriously entertain the idea, but she was undeniably attracted to the thought.

This wasn't something that was exclusive to Natalie Fairbanks, not even close. Every time there was an incident like the one with Kurt at the amusement park, another occurrence of anti-mutant brutality, some X-Man or another considered thoughts of revenge, of some sort of small retribution against a heartless society that allowed it and actually promoted it at times. Jean, from time to time, could understand the views of Magneto and his students. There was, always, the part of any person being oppressed that believed the oppressors should be punished rather than simply taught the correct way to do things. It might feel good, it might feel _right_, to punish people like the so-called Friends of Humanity, rather than protect them from the many dangers that they didn't even know they faced.

But those weren't the thoughts that the X-Men, as young and passionate as they were about the world, could allow themselves to undergo. They were the ideas of Magneto, of Mystique, of the Brotherhood.

They were the ideas of the rest of the world.

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"So, you really think there's something to this?"

Irene nodded, the dim light from the table lamp casting eerie shadows over her face. "I'd say that the chance is very good. The potential for enormous power is certainly there; whether or not that has anything to do with some sort of ancient prophecy is something entirely separate." She leaned forward to pour more tea into her cup, her hand shaking slightly and sloshing the warm, watery liquid onto the lip of the saucer.

Raven leaned back in her seat, pressing her fingertips to her chin and frowning slightly. _How odd it must be_, she thought, _to be able to see so much about the world but be sightless at the same time_. "It's rather convenient that the prophecy happens to appear to be accurate, don't you think? These things don't just…occur. There must be some merit in it, if it's so precise."

"Perhaps. More likely, though, it's just a lucky coincident. Very lucky." She smiled. "For you at least."

The other woman chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head. The room was lit with a muted light, shadowy, and full of dust that Irene didn't seem to notice. The plush couch where the two were seated was pale and old, with worn upholstery in a pattern of blue flowers, and a faded pleat of fabric along the bottom. The tea set, in silver and creamy white porcelain, waited homily on the table, bearing hot peppermint tea and tiny hard cookies on a plate, untouched. She licked her lips, the question she wanted to ask so badly finally spilling forth. "What do you think our chances are of getting her to join us?"

Eyes shaded behind her dark glasses, Irene began to squirm slightly. "From what I know of the girl, and what I know of your kids, I think you have a good shot at her. The only problem—" she paused "—is your boy."

Raven's jaw went rigid and her eyes flashed, but Irene didn't see it, of course. "I was afraid of that."

"He's settled with Xavier and that means that she is as well. If she wants to stay with him as much as I suspect she does, she won't do anything to endanger her chances with him. Anything, such as going against him and his friends." There was an ironic twinge in her voice. "Young love, don't you know?"

Mystique cleared her throat and took a sip of tea to squelch the odd, fluttering feeling in her stomach. "We can't let that get in the way. The last time I heard from Pietro, he said that she seemed to be having some second thoughts about joining Xavier's institute."

Irene nodded, her face solemn. "He's right about that, I would guess. Everyone doubts their purpose from time to time. Still, I don't think some nagging doubts are enough to change her mind. But I see that she will probably come around in time, given the right…motivations."

A sigh escaped Mystique's tired throat. "Unfortunately, she's been there for a while now, and Xavier's been able to spoon-feed her any story that he chooses, about goodwill toward man and protection of those that hate us, and other tripe of the sort."

This pulled a chuckle from Irene, who smiled wryly around her teacup. "It's an appealing story to the young and naïve, Raven. I'm sure you understand the desire for a positive purpose. Even you must have had one once."

"We've had this discussion before, Irene. I still have one. It's just not the same _kind_ of positive purpose." She stood in front of the window, looking out over the quiet street through the curtains, which were ruffled in the draft created by a box fan propped against the wall. "Xavier thinks that the world can be saved by playing on the good intentions of a few isolated humans. He believes, quite earnestly I think, that we can overcome our current situation with words, with _diplomacy_." The fan blew a strand of hair around her face, coiling it around her elegant, shell-like ear. "But what he doesn't seem to realize is that they don't _want _diplomacy. They want to hate us, and imprison us, and blame us for every problem on the planet when it's _their_ broken techniques that have led to the degeneration of humanity, not the existence of mutants. We're the ones with the God-given right to inherit all of their mess, so we're the ones that have to clean it up. Xavier and his X-Men just don't have a strong enough grip on reality to realize that pretty sentiments aren't going to solve this situation in the most constructive manner."

Irene sighed, absently stroking the handle of her teacup with her thumb. "A worthy goal, in its own right. But do you honestly think that getting hold of this girl is going to accomplish it?"

Mystique laughed, a harsh, sarcastic sound. "Of course not! There are _countless_ powerful mutants that could join our cause, and would be grateful to do so."

"So why do you want this Fairbanks kid so badly?"

She blinked. "You _know_, Irene."

"Fine. I know. I know she's powerful, or potentially so, and I know what you plan to do with her abilities. Just tell me that it's what _you_ want, and I'll let it go forever."

"It's what I want, you know-it-all. Why would I be working for it so hard, if it wasn't?"

Irene paused, chin held high. "Because it's what _he_ wants, and you're as afraid as anyone else to go against him. Anyone but Xavier, that is."

Mystique's jaw tightened, and her pale eyes narrowed. "Magneto's desires are my desires, in this case and in many others. If we are to build a strong following, one with the power and determination to defeat the enemy, we need to not only strengthen ourselves but to weaken the enemy as well. The best way to deteriorate any enemy is to fortify yourself and your defenses, and vice versa. So, we will do both at the same time, and do both well."

"Listen to yourself, Darkholme! You speak as if you're building up an army!"

"Aren't I?"

Irene got to her feet as if the movement pained her. As she watched Mystique, she saw for a moment, behind her blind eyes and inside her mind, that the other woman looked almost pitiable, and had been that way for some time now. Deep lines that hadn't been there not long before had formed around her mouth, and her eyes, despite their almost fanatical light, were fatigued. She was weak with exhaustion, defeat. In as fast a flash, Irene's premonition of a drained and defeated Mystique was gone, and she stood in the room with the Mystique that really was, a sturdy, fixated woman with a task and a method. She shook her head, exiting slowly and calling back over her shoulder, "I'm done with this today, Raven. Please show yourself out."

Raven stood alone in the living room, surrounded by the dimness and the dust of years of blindness. She left on quiet, lilting footsteps, switching off the light behind her.


	26. Dialectic Reasoning

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**Chapter Twenty-Six: Dialectic Reasoning**

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Shivering slightly, Nat pulled her nightshirt over her head and stuffed her legs into a pair of blue cotton pajama bottoms. She wiggled her toes inside her thick woolen socks, burying them quickly beneath the quilts to hide them from the cold, and drew a blanket around her body. Crickets chirped outside the tent, playing a peaceful lullaby that left her sleepy.

For some reason, she was thinking about her father. Nat remembered him rather well, although it seemed that each passing year made the photograph in her head grow dimmer, the edges becoming more dog-eared and frayed. One of the last times she had seen him was at her tenth birthday party, and she remembered the colors of the wrapping paper better than the color of his hair. It may have been graying at the time, or it may have still been dark. It was several months after her powers had first begun to assert themselves. She was younger than most were when this happened, and more frightened. Before most girls even had their first training bra, she was learning how to hide her powers, how to pretend she wasn't what she was. She remembered that he wore a worn plaid shirt, as if he'd been working outside, and he smelled like warm tobacco. It was a smell she used to hate, one that had grown on her like moss, slowly and without her even noticing.

Inside the packages, she got most of what she had asked for. Hardcover copies of her three favorite books from her grandparents, a porcelain doll in violet lace from her aunt, a pogo stick from her cousins and a plastic charm bracelet from her friend Neah. She wore that bracelet for the next five years, long after she and Neah had lost touch and the artificial gems had started to fall off, until the tiny hook broke and it disappeared into a sewer drain.

She opened the package from her father last. It was small, flat, and quite heavy, like another book. It was wrapped in metallic paper, decked with a tassel of blue and green ribbon that had been curled on the blade of a scissor. When she opened it, she found a picture frame, made of some dark, shiny wood, reddish and gleaming. Behind the glass sat a handsome young couple, a dark-haired man and a woman with wide green eyes like Nat's own. The woman wore a yellow dress and a circlet of withered daisies in her hair, and the man's hand rested lightly on her slender shoulder. Between them sat a small, pudgy figure that looked a lot like them, only smaller and rounder, with their features combined almost exactly. It was Nat as a baby, she had realized with a startled jolt, and a little sniffle. So it was her mother that wore the daisies in her hair.

Back in reality and modern time, her head hurt. Whether it was from the cold or her own thoughts, she didn't know. All day, she'd been fighting the urge to disappear into her tent and sleep the rest of the weekend away, out of the suspicious sights of Logan and Jean, away from their guarded, troubled expressions. They worried about her, and about what was going on within her. Worry leads to inspection, and inspection, more often than not, leads to knowledge. And knowledge of her past could be the last thing about her that they'd ever want to know. What she couldn't seem to remember was that, quite often, knowledge can also lead to understanding if it is given the proper guidance and time for growth.

She didn't know where she stood with those two, although she supposed that they were only concerned about her, and she felt reasonably comfortable with the rest. This left the problem of Kurt: part of her wanted him there alongside her, warm and gently loving, but the rest of her was ashamed by his forgiveness, his unwarranted trust, and wanted to distance herself from him in a sort of self-punishment.

Her lips burned, the taste of her own skin not quite letting go of the trace of that kiss.

Why _had_ she kissed Pietro?

It was easy enough to pass it off as pure physical attraction, an idea that both comforted her in its simplicity and disgusted her with its shallowness. She wasn't the kind of person to kiss someone, especially not someone like _Pietro_, just because she thought that he was good-looking. The other alternative was that she was actually interested in him, and this idea was more fantasy than reality, she knew and hoped. In between the two realms was the one in which she feared Pietro, distrusted him, but was absorbed by his words, and the ideas that he presented. He was a rebel to the rest of the world, relishing an ideology that demonized the normal human majority in an attempt to make sense of their cruel treatment of mutants.

It was an ideology that made sense, more and more, when Nat gave it closer thought.

Nat didn't care about Pietro Maximoff, at least not in the way that she cared about Kurt, who she not only cared for but trusted deeply as a friend as well. This was clear, and was perhaps the only thing that _was clear anymore. She loved Kurt, quite likely more than anyone she had ever known. She didn't love Pietro, only the _suggestion_ of Pietro. He made sense out of the violence directed at Kurt, at herself, and at every other person on the planet that had been born _different._ Outwardly, the young mutant seemed to understand the minds of men like the F.O.H. better than Xavier did. He claimed to know, as Nat had long suspected, that these people were the ones with the sickness, the disease. It wasn't them, the mutants, as people thought. Pietro was the embodiment of her anger, her sick desire for vengeance on the world. He was her dark side._

Kurt, on the other hand, was her angel. He was beautiful and sweet, and her heart swelled with pride at the notion that he had chosen _her_. He showed her more patience, more understanding, than any other being she had ever met, and took her faults and foibles and loved her for them, so she could do nothing else but love him in return. _This_ was why she had a dark side: if she didn't, then she would have to accept, have to acknowledge, that her angel had been hurt. She would have to allow the world to abuse him, and protect the world in return. This, her dark side would not permit, or at least didn't want to.

Is this what being an X-Man was? Letting yourself and those you love fall under the dull blade of hatred, again and again, and doing nothing to slow the executioner's swinging axe except to ask it nicely to stop? Was it walking away from an unconscious F.O.H. member on the sidewalk so he could remember the evening that he lynched another mutant? Was it sitting passively, waiting for acceptance, when children with a quirk in their genome were crying themselves to sleep and slitting their wrists? _Of course not_, _of course not_, _of course not_, she whispered in her mind. _It_'_s more than that. Or maybe less. No. Definitely more._

Without the darkness there can be no light, and without the light, no darkness. One is wholly dependant upon the other for its very subsistence. Pure, clean, dialectic reasoning. It is thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. The reason for Satan in all its forms, the reason for God in all of His. Everything cannot exist on a plane, that smooth, flat, emotionless surface of the middle ground, of the gray, the lackluster, the tepid.

There must be the darkness.

There must be the light.

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Through the zippered flap of the tent that he was sharing with Evan, Kurt could see Nat readying herself for bed a few meters away. She sat on her sleeping bag in her own tent, unaware that he was watching, brushing her hair in slow, deliberate strokes, her face screwed up slightly in contemplation. Beside her, Kitty's empty sleeping bag indicated that the younger girl was still out by the campfire with Rogue, Jean and Scott. Logan had long since disappeared into the forest again, either to retire to his own tent not far away or, as Kurt suspected, wandering in the dark for the sheer pleasure of it. Yellow eyes glowing, he stared, drinking in the sight of Natalie. Her arms were bare to just above the elbow, goose pimpled in the cool night air, and her thick plait of hair was twined into a dark, glossy rope that fell down the center of her back.

He pulled a sweater around his shoulders, and slipped into the night, careful not to disturb Evan,  who fast asleep next to him, cocoon-like among his various coverings. He walked slowly, quietly, until he was just outside Nat's tent, and stuck his head inside. He waited a moment, savoring the sight of her profile.

"Nat?"

With a little yelp, she whirled around and flung her hairbrush in his general direction. It whizzed past his head, and he grinned at her as she started to blush. She laughed, and smiled warmly, awkwardly as Kurt dropped to the ground with the blankets pooled at his knees, hugging her around the waist.

Delighted, somewhat distant, she whispered, "What are you doing here so late?"

"Visiting you." He kissed her just below her lips, on the chin, and she pressed back affectionately, giggling softly. Her body molded against him, comforting and familiar now in the chilly dark of the mountain air.

"Good answer."

"Vy are you still avake? I thought you said you vere tired."

"I am." She yawned widely, as if to prove her point, and smiled. "Just…thinking."

Kurt flopped down next to her, pulling one of the quilts over himself and propping his head up on his hand. He drew her in close to him beneath the covers, so her back was against his chest, and his breath played with the curl beside her ear. She sighed and nuzzled closer, her eyes drifting shut. "_Was_?"

She twined her fingers through his. "Not much…my family."

"Anything in particular?"

"Yeah. My dad. When I was ten, he gave me a picture in a frame, of me and my parents when I was only a few months old. It was the only picture I ever had of my mum." He leaned his cheek against the top of her head, almost cradling her. She swallowed hard. "Do you ever miss your parents? Not Ms. Darkholme, but your adopted parents?"

There was a long silence. "All the time. I write to them sometimes, but mostly I just…don't know vat to say to them."

Nat's brow furrowed, and she pulled away a bit, watching his face closely. "Why? I thought you got along with them."

He shrugged. "I do. They vere good parents to me, despite the secrets they kept. But sometimes…I don't know, it's like they live in a different vorld now. Not just a different country, that vould be easy to deal vith. Ever since I got here, I've seen in a whole new light the vay that people see us; mutants, I mean. My parents…sometimes, I think they don't even know that I'm different."

Her eyes slipped shut again, her head pillowed against his chest. "What's so bad about that? I'd give anything to have a family that didn't care about me being a mutant."

Against her, Kurt seemed to squirm, as if she'd touched on a raw nerve. "Most people vould feel like that, I think." His voice was soft. "They know I'm not normal. They'd have to be blind and stupid _not_ to know. It's just…vell, they tried so hard to make me grow up like other kids. Ve did all the normal things that families do, only I could never see other children, outside of a select few, or go to the normal schools. I think they forgot that pretending that something doesn't exist doesn't make it easier to understand, or to deal vith ven the time comes."

_What is this_,_ Ironic-Comments-to-Make-Natalie-Uncomfortable Day_? Nat thought.She felt a lump forming in the back of her throat, and her voice quavered slightly. "I know how that goes."

He paused. "Does it bother you to talk about this?"

"I…I don't think so. I'm just sort of sad, thinking back on things. I guess I'm feeling kind of emotional. Maybe I'm hormonal or something, I don't know." She shrugged, blushed apologetically, and he wrapped her in a firm hug.

Kurt's eyes sparkled. "Now _that_'_s_ not the kind of thing you're supposed to tell a guy. I might get scared and run avay."

She laughed quietly, trying not to sniffle. Her eyes felt itchy. "Yeah, like you'd ever run away from _me_."

"Ach, you're right! _Nie_, _nie_. I vould never run from you." He leaned downward, catching her lips in a kiss. His hands roved gently over her back, against the tensed muscles there, easing her, coaxing her. His tongue was soft, his hands almost imperceptible, until the kisses became more urgent, his mouth grinding into hers. She felt him pushing closer, so their bodies touched beneath the covers, and she shivered. She kissed back, pressing him on, her hands suddenly under his shirt, not knowing how they got there. Now, as his lips touched hers, she began to tremble, remembering her earlier indiscretion with Pietro, how she had responded to him. Did she have any right to react the same way to Kurt, even if, in her heart, only _this_ kiss meant something real, something substantially _good_?

He broke off suddenly, panting. His eyes were wide, bright with surprise, and something else. His voice came out in a husky jumble of sounds, words she couldn't make out. Something in German, including the word for "crazy", and her own name. "_Ich bin verrückt nach dir_, Natalie..."

It had begun so sweetly, so wonderfully. _Too fast_, she thought, but that vicious, tearing voice returned with more fodder than ever to be used against her. _No._ _That_'_s not it at all. He knows. He felt something strange when he kissed you, something different_,_ and now he knows all about what you did_,_ you little slut_,_ you lying whore_.

Nat's body began to quake, to wrench with a force from deep inside, making her feel as if she were crinkling, melting into the blankets. Kurt pulled away, taken aback, and watched her, stunned and slightly afraid. Her skin was white, even in the almost blackness of the tent, contrasting against her dark hair and making her look as if she'd been cut from paper. She seemed to radiate, to effervesce and dissipate.

"Natalie! _Was_? _Was ist das_? Are you alright?"

Her hand went out, braced against his chest, and she stood, stumbling out of the tent into the dark night. Her head seemed to be spinning, so she picked a direction that looked vaguely familiar, and took it, lurching into the darkness. Brambles snagged in her socks and cut her feet, but she paid no attention. It was like that night on the cliffs at Muir Island, a blind, reeling stagger into nowhere, with Kurt at her heels.

Would he save her this time? Would he stop her before she went tumbling over the edge? She wanted him to, and prayed that he would, but felt that she didn't deserve it. From behind her, she thought that perhaps her wish was coming true, and she heard him calling her name. He could see in the dark better than she could, but the forest at night is a bewildering, disorienting place, and he couldn't 'port to her if he didn't know exactly where she was.

When it felt as if she'd been walking for hours, but really only a minute or two, she burst into an expansive space, and was momentarily stunned by the brightness of two moons. The lake reflected a second, a glowing white sister to the twin in the sky. She kept walking, out onto the edge of the swaying dock, and sat down, letting her socks dip into the muddy chill of the water.

Now that she was in the open, Kurt could see her, and as soon as he reached the forest's edge and caught sight of her, he 'ported to a spot about two meters behind her on the dock. She smelled the sulfuric smoke of his arrival, but didn't turn around. He came forward slowly, sitting down beside her. He let his own bare feet slide into the frigid water, barely wincing.

"I'm so sorry, Natalie," he whispered. "I vasn't going to force myself on you, I promise."

She didn't answer for a long, eternal moment. "I was afraid you wouldn't want to follow me." Her voice was hushed.

He blinked, and almost laughed. "_Warem_? Vat makes you think I vouldn't?"

A long pause. "Aren't you mad at me?"

"For _was_? For acting like I tried to feed you to vun of those mountain lions I varned you about?" Kurt chuckled. "Really I should thank you for reacting that vay. Ve probably shouldn't have been doing that." He smiled, eyes glinting. "Not in the tent you share vith Kitty, at least."

"I'm…oh, God, I'm so sorry."

"I don't understand, Nat." His tone was gentle, cajoling.

Nat's mind spun. Of course he didn't understand. He couldn't possibly know. Her stomach felt like ice. She shrugged. "I'm just sorry. Can you accept that, and pretend that it makes sense, even if it really doesn't?"

"_Ja_, I…I think I can handle that."

Tears began to pool in her eyes, guilty, tired tears, but tears also of relief. She hadn't confessed, but she had apologized, and taken the first step to honesty: admitting she was wrong. He put his arm over her shoulder, and she realized that she was shivering.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?" His voice was quiet, his cheek warm against her hair.

"_Ich…bin verrückt…nach dir_, Kurt," she whispered hesitantly, the unfamiliar words feeling thick on her tongue.

He smiled widely, his golden eyes gleaming in the darkness. "_Ja_, Nat. I'm crazy for you too."

It was just as she thought.

She had found her light.


	27. En Revanche

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"Revenge, at first though sweet,

Bitter ere long back on itself recoils."

-_John Milton_

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven: En Revanche**

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Kurt sighed and rolled out from underneath the covers, careful not to jostle the mattress too much, lest he awaken Nat, who slept soundly in a tiny corner of the bed. He laughed quietly to himself, imaging what the others would think if they walked in at that moment: under their very own roof, the Elf, romantic hopeless-case extraordinaire and object of disdain for a large portion of the available female market, wasn't a virgin anymore.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, that _wouldn_'_t_ be quite true. Nat had simply fallen asleep here, with him, and he had delighted in every moment of it. Who knew that one could actually be happy to be kicked in the shins all night? He sighed again, a genuinely contented sound from deep inside his body. He watched her sleep, wondering how long it would take to get tired of watching, and couldn't come up with any definite conclusions. He was intensely grateful to be back in the mansion, where he could lay and think without having to worry about getting up to catch breakfast from the lake.

She looked almost angelic, in a strange, look-at-the-peaceful-girl-with-her-hair-all-messed-up sort of way. He noticed all the things that she seemed to not be impressed by about herself, and wondered why. Her fair skin wasn't pale, but milky, and her hair, although it wasn't the flaming red that she admired on Jean, was a color that seemed to change in the light, all in shades of deep, dark brown. When she slept, he couldn't see her eyes, the sight of which he could practically feast upon, but her eyelids fluttered silently, and he was reminded that she was dreaming.

Kurt wanted to draw her to him, but didn't, out of fear that he would wake her. What were those twitching eyelids hiding? Did she dream about him, or have nightmares about whatever it was that she seemed so intent to bury? He rarely remembered his own dreams, unless they were the best ones, and sometimes the worst. Maybe she dreamed about her fear. It was nothing more, he felt sure, than her self-consciousness sparking up again, the twinges of guilt and shame that everyone feels from time to time about what and who they are. He knew this obscure shame, and hated it, hated the thought that it plagued her, too.

Whatever it was, that distant, rapidly approaching fear, it didn't seem to matter much as he lay there, watching her sleep, and wondering about her dancing, trembling eyelids.

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Beside Pietro, Todd "Toad" Tolensky was drumming his fingers noisily on the dashboard and bobbing his head in time to the stereo. He held a soda in his hand, a massive paper cup from some fast food joint, and sloshed the sugary liquid onto the upholstery as he bounced around in the seat. He leaned forward, his drink spilling onto the floor, and flicked at the knobs of the stereo so the station changed to something loud that blared with bass and a screaming guitar. Pietro glared at him, jaw clenched.

"Could you _please_ stop doing that? You're trashin' my car," he snarled, almost hissing. Toad looked up in surprise, but shrugged and complied. He took a slurp from his cup and smacked his lips around yellowish teeth, grinning as Pietro shot him a vicious glower. Toad replied by burping, loudly and unpleasantly, and taking another swig as if to replenish his supply of stomach gases. Pietro grimaced.

They sat in silence for several minutes until Toad grew tired of the quiet and decided to press Pietro a little more. "So…what's goin' on with you?"

Pietro glanced at him with one colorless eyebrow raised. "Like what?"

Looking wide-eyed and innocent, Toad lifted a defensive hand, his narrow shoulders twisting into a shrug. "I dunno. How about…what's been makin' you act like a world-class jackass these past couple of days?"

Pietro's long fingers curled around the steering wheel, and his lips became a thin line, white and compressed. He whipped around the corner that led into the Bayville High parking lot, coming close to scraping the front bumper against the bike rack. "Ex-_cuse_ me?"

"Oh, you don't know, Mister Sunshine. I ain't seen you this pissy in a while, that's all."

"Maybe I'm tired of having to share every little element of my personal life with _you_, Tolensky."

Toad snorted, turning away. He hurled the soda cup out the window, and it hit a wall in an explosion of brownish-clear droplets, tumbling to the ground and rolling away forlornly. A passing teacher, splattered by the mess, shouted something unintelligible, but Pietro didn't stop until he had whisked into an empty spot alongside the football field. Toad got out of the car, and stood next the vehicle for a minute or two, waiting for Pietro to follow, but the older boy sat silently in the front seat. He gripped the steering wheel like he was trying to choke it. Toad rapped on the roof of the car with a balled up fist.

"You gonna stay in there all day or somethin'?"

Pietro ignored him and stared straight ahead, as if there was something very interesting stuck to the windshield directly in front of his face. Toad rolled his bulging eyes and stuck his head through the open window, saying, "I ain't coverin' for your ass if you miss bio—" just as it slipped shut.

Pietro yawned and tried to think. It seemed like that's all he'd been doing for three days now. He'd had a nagging headache ever since he last saw Nat, a few days earlier, and he was worn out, ready to sleep dreamlessly for a week or two. The best alternative that he could find was to run, play basketball, go swimming…anything physical and tiring to get his mind off of his annoyance and his rattling headache. Not to mention the sting of rejection, possible the harshest blow possible to a somewhat inflated ego.

He sat mutely, biting his tongue. By his wristwatch, Pietro guessed that Nat was just arriving, probably getting a ride from that hairy blue freak and setting off for her first period of the day, which he knew to be history. He grunted, still seizing the steering wheel in a death grip. In the seventy-two hours since Pietro got as furious as he ever had in his life, he'd not only _not_ gotten over it, but had steadily become more and more irritated. By that morning, he was practically seething, but didn't say a word to anyone about it. 

Nat didn't _have_ to react the way she did. She could have screamed, slapped him across the face, or kicked him in the crotch. She could have done a lot of things besides kiss him in return, but she didn't. As if he had been imagining it, she'd responded by returning the gesture, eagerly and gleefully, despite her obvious exasperation with him. If that Wolverine guy hadn't interrupted, who knows what might have happened.

If that had been the end of it, Pietro wouldn't be angry right now. In fact, he would have been on cloud nine. He could look forward to seeing her at school again, to his next chance to sneak a kiss in private. Of course, that _hadn_'_t_ been the end of it. Not only had Nat simply stood there, looking ashamed, when Logan confronted them, she hadn't said a word to defend him. It probably looked like he'd been taking advantage, or, even worse, forcing himself on her. Had she not kissed back, it would have ended there, and he would have been no closer to a rapist than he had ever been. Pietro was a lot of things, including brash and insensitive, but he didn't need that snotty little brat making him look bad. In addition, he knew that she was beginning to appreciate his efforts to "recruit" her, a goal that was becoming more and more his own, losing sight of Magneto's original intentions. She didn't trust him yet, and she avoided trying to think that maybe he was right, but he knew that she was possibly coming around. Her damn stubbornness was the only thing keeping her away, he figured. If he could only convince her that it was in her best interests to leave Xavier and the X-men behind...

Natalie Fairbanks, the first girl in a long time that he might have really been interested in, had led him on by kissing him back, had pretended to be something that she wasn't really up to being. Well, what had he expected? After all, she was pretending to be an X-Man, when she was really just a criminal who never took responsibility, a fugitive of life itself. Had he really thought that she would kiss him, and _mean_ it? A strange battle of rage, fueled by this troublesome desire for some sort of retaliation, was warring in his chest.

The most annoying thing, the worst part of all, was that he hated her _because_ he liked her, and vice-God-damned-versa. He was never really one for subtlety; if Pietro Maximoff hated you, you knew it, but the same was seldom true for those few people that he actually liked. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite as skilled in the art of polite conversation as some others were, that little German freak, for instance, and those that he liked, or even perhaps _cared about_, almost always thought he was either out to get them or just wanted to get into their pants.

Of course, he _could_ have approached her differently. There was no reason that he had so blatantly insulted the people that she considered to be her friends, and threatened their worthless ideology. Maybe, just maybe, she was staying away from him simply because he hadn't been as friendly as he could have been. Or maybe she really was better off with the X-Men.

_No no no no_, he told himself. Lately, his mind went faster than usual, a blur that even he could hardly follow, but one thing about Pietro's perception of himself rarely changed: when he was right, he was right, and he most certainly knew he was right about the X-Men. _What I said to her is completely true. They just want her around as another figurehead of their hollow little promises_, _their game of envoy between oppressor and oppressed. One more subdued mutant dolly_,_ one less dangerous mutant criminal._

He gnashed his teeth, fuming.

There are many things that you can do to steer clear of trouble. If you always wear sunscreen when you're in the sun, you might avoid skin cancer. If you visit the zoo, you can help see to it that the tigers won't attack by not sticking your arm in their cage. When you cross the street, look both ways and wait your turn, and you probably won't get hit by a Winnebago.

Most of all, never make someone mad if he has at his disposal the ingredients for revenge.

In the quiet isolation of his car, Pietro was planning his.

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Chattering happily about a perfect score on her latest math test, Kitty dropped some quarters into the slot and took the bottle of water that the machine gave in return, putting it into her backpack for later. Doug Ramsey was laughing at something said by a passerby, his light eyes shining, but Kitty went on unabated.

"I mean, I knew the material pretty well, but I totally didn't expect to get, like, _every_ problem right! Even the extra credit ones, you know? I'm so happy…now I can get as low as a twelve percent on the final and keep my A!"

Doug snickered. "As if you have to worry about the final."

"Well, this just makes _sure_ that I don't." She beamed, and a note of recognition lit her face as she caught sight of someone down the hall. Rogue was struggling with the combination on her stubborn locker, cursing under her breath and banging on the metal door with her palms. Kitty rolled her eyes, and gestured to Doug that she would see him later. He nodded and took off toward the cafeteria, waving over his shoulder.

Preparing herself for a blast of infuriation from the pissed off goth with the unruly locker, Kitty sauntered over, clasping her hands daintily in front of herself. She stood beside her distracted comrade for a good two minutes before she took it upon herself to make her presence known.

"Need some help?"

Surprised, Rogue looked up, embarrassment etched on her pale features. She smiled obliquely. "Yeah…it's kinda…I dunno, stuck." Kitty stepped forward, but Rogue looked dubious. "Knock yourself out. Ah've been tryin' for ten minutes, and it ain't gonna budge."

Kitty smiled charmingly, and glanced around for a moment, making sure that no one was close enough to see. Looking pleased with herself, she phased her hand through the door, deftly unhooking the jammed latch from the inside and swinging it open triumphantly. Rogue jerked her head in a twisty little motion that was supposed to be one of thanks, and hauled out her things, neglecting to retrieve the wealth of unnoticed textbooks from the bottom of the locker. She tossed her bag over her shoulder, and the two girls, chattering intermittently, headed for the parking lot where Rogue's car was patiently waiting.

Rogue opened the hatch to put their backpacks in, Kitty's a petite little satchel of white leather, Rogue's a leopard print monstrosity with Slipknot patches and random safety pins adorning the flaps. They shoved aside the ancient tire pump in the trunk, and dropped their things inside. When the hatch shut with a sharp snap, a lean gray shadow passed over the car's glossy surface, and both girls spun quickly around.

A few yards away, slightly elevated on a cement ledge at the perimeter of the courtyard, stood Pietro. He looked customarily self-assured, his thumbs slung through his belt loops. He smirked slightly, but there was a light in his eye that neither Kitty nor Rogue had ever noticed before. He wasn't there for an argument, or even to toss around a few long-winded insults. This time, Pietro had a higher purpose.

"What are ya doin' here, Maximoff?" Rogue demanded, lurching forward. Her heavily outlined eyes flashed, and her pale hands tightened into fists.

He ignored her at first, and hopped down from the ledge. He kicked at the curb and scuffed the toes of his sneakers on the pavement as he approached, his long legs sticking out in front of him as he walked in almost a swagger. "Same thing as you, Sweetie. Just looking for my car."

Rogue's eyes narrowed again at the use of the demeaning term of endearment, and she nodded toward a vehicle parked not far away. "If Ah'm not mistaken, ain't it that dorky green thing over there?"

Pietro snorted, but said nothing. Kitty sighed and reached for Rogue's arm, but Rogue pulled back angrily.

Kitty eyed her warily, warningly, her pearlized mouth going thin. "Come on, Rogue. He's just trying to, like, upset you. Don't let him."

Her gloved hands splayed on her hipbones, Rogue glared at Kitty, virtually ignoring their visitor. "Ah'm not upset! Ah just wanna know why he's followin' me to mah car!"

Bare inches from Rogue's impending rampage, Pietro took his chances and leaned against her car with one hand, as if he were examining it, caressing it for imperfections in the paint. Rogue repressed the urge to leap on him and slap him around a little, her hesitation mostly for the benefit of Kitty, who was looking irritated but nonviolent.

"I'm not following you. Not really."

Kitty sighed distantly, but Rogue wouldn't let him get away with anything, not even some vague remark. Her teeth clenched between darkly painted lips. "What the hell does _that_ mean, Fast Boy?"

He shrugged, looking intentionally ambiguous. "Nothin'."

Exasperated, Rogue rolled her eyes and shoved him out of her way, much to Kitty's disgust, disregarding him and clambering into the car in a flurry. Kitty piled in next to her, looking tired but faintly annoyed, her small hands folded in her lap as she sat rigidly in the shotgun seat. Rogue revved the engine a few times, which gave Pietro just enough time to stick his head through Kitty's open window and ask, "Where's Nat today? I haven't seen her."

Surprised, Rogue's hand fell from the steering wheel, and she stared at him, too infuriated to say anything. Kitty frowned, and took the initiative. "Haven't you, like, done _enough_ for Nat lately, Pietro?"

His eyes narrowed, his unbreakable cool unexpectedly shot. "Why? What'd she say about me?"

Kitty smirked, pleased that she had somehow been able to ruffle Pietro's feathers. "Nothing. Nothing at _all_. But I know you've been bugging her or something, or she wouldn't have gotten so totally freaked out when you tried to talk to her on the road the other day."

Pietro's upper lip twitched, jerked a bit, and Kitty felt faintly nervous. Rogue was silent, watching Pietro and listening to his conversation with Kitty.

He sneered, angry. "There's a lot about Nat that might make her a little jumpy."

"What are ya talkin' about, Maximoff? Quit standin' there like a deer caught in the damn headlights and say what ya gotta say so we can get outta here sometime today!"

"I don't know if I should say...but what exactly do you think it is about Nat that makes her so tense? I know you've noticed; you'd have to be even stupider than I think you are not to pick up on it."

"Dammit, Maximoff!"

"Okay, okay!" He held up his palms as if to shield himself, but the expression on his face didn't look particularly threatened. "I just think you ought to know some things about Nat Fairbanks that I don't think she's been too eager to share with you." Kitty and Rogue stared, waiting, and he continued with a patronizing sigh. "You ever wonder why she's so sensitive about discussin' her past? Well, what you probably don't know is that she's got more of a past than you think she does."

Rogue shook her head as if to knock away his words. "Look, if Nat wants us tah know stuff about her…'past', Ah think she can tell us herself, thank ya very much."

He shook his head. "I don't know about that."

Kitty's brow was puckered, her hands twining together nervously. "I don't know, Rogue. Maybe we should…hear him out before we abandon what he has to say."

Angry, Rogue twisted in her seat to face the younger girl, hissing, "Look, Ah don't really care about Nat's secrets. Ain't we all allowed tah have a few?"

Unwilling to let himself be shunted from the conversation, Pietro continued. "In this case, I think not. She's more dangerous than either of you assume. And you'd better not piss her off, or you'll be in the same state as her _last_ 'schoolmates.'"

There was a long pause. "_What_?"

"I'm not trying to say too much, but she's been involved in a couple of pretty tragic…ah, _incidents_…with her fire. Her old school burned to the ground, and there were several casualties. Including one girl who's got irreparable burns to the entire top half of her body. Then, she tried to hide it, and she's been lying to all of you about herself for weeks. Pretending to be your friend." He _tsk-tsk_-ed and shrugged. "But if you don't want to know…"

Kitty twitched. "You can't possibly be serious. Are you?"

Rogue snorted, a bitter sound, and glanced at Kitty. "'Course he ain't. Ya ever known that boy tah do a single nice thing for us?" She turned on Pietro. "Why would ya tell us, when ya _stumbled _across this info?"

"Look, you don't _have_ to believe me. Still, consider the options. You trust me, or you trust her. So we're not exactly friends. Who cares? What makes you think that anything that girl has told you has been true?"

Her voice high-pitched with panic, Kitty cried, "'Cause she's our friend, you dumbass!"

"Just what would I have to gain from telling you a bunch of lies about her?" Pietro shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and beginning to make his way slowly from the car and back toward the school. "Whatever. Take what I said and do whatever you want with it. I'm not too concerned. _I_ know you can handle yourselves." He walked away, an eerie spring in his step.

They were silent for several minutes, digesting their new knowledge, wondering and pondering over its authenticity, considering the source.

"Well…what are we supposed tah do now?"

Kitty sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if her sinuses were throbbing. "I…I don't know. All I know for sure right now is that I can't think clearly sitting in the parking lot. Let's go home for a while. We need to talk to Jean."

Tires squealing on the blacktop, Rogue whipped the car out of the little painted rectangle on the ground, and they headed for the mansion.


	28. Conflictions

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"You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you mad."

-_Aldous__ Huxley_

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Conflictions**

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Jean glanced up from her history book, shaking her head as the two late-risers entered the kitchen. Nat's hair was tangled and hastily brushed, hanging in two thick, slightly lopsided braids, and she was barefoot. She had taken the time to put on some clothes, which happened to be jeans and a T-shirt, and looked considerably more prepared for the day than Kurt did, in his rumpled sweater and pajama bottoms. He was laughing loudly, trying to grab her around the waist from behind, but she easily dodged his advances and squirmed out of his grasp.

It was wonderful to see them acting so companionable, back to their usual antics after the oddly fateful camping trip. Jean wasn't sure exactly what had happened. In fact, no one was sure with the possible exception of Logan, and in all the time that Jean had known him, he'd never been one to tell secrets. Despite her desperate attempts to pretend that there was nothing bothering her, Nat was as transparent as glass to the resident mind-readers. Neither Jean nor the professor tried to get her to tell them _why_ she was behaving and feeling so oddly about her little white-haired nemesis. Even so, it wouldn't have taken someone as mentally tuned-in as a telepath to pick up on Nat's strange avoidance, and guilt, of their inauspicious visitor that day on the side of the road. Jean, who had been careful not to push too far into Nat's personal difficulties, was able to pretend that nothing odd had happened as life gradually returned to normal at the Xavier mansion. It seemed to be a common tactic among the others as well.

Kurt looked sheepish and Nat almost frantic, her cheeks coloring as she dashed to get ready. She smiled at Jean, but didn't go about the standard morning ritual of getting breakfast; instead, she dropped her backpack on a chair and started stuffing her previously discarded textbooks into it as quickly as possible, ignoring the tearing sound of something that may or may not have been important.

"What time is it?" she asked, grinning and flushed.

"Almost noon. I've got to leave for classes in just a few minutes." Jean started gathering her own books, folding her papers and slipping them into a folder. "Speaking of classes, weren't you two supposed to have left for school about four hours ago?" Jean smirked, amused by the frenzied expression on Nat's face.

Nat's wide green eyes rolled in exasperation, but Jean's humorous tone of voice seemed to calm her. She flopped into a seat and sighed loudly, smiling and leaning her elbows on the table. She looked annoyed, but her eyes were bright, and Jean once again marveled at just what might be going on between these two. "Yeah, but _somebody_ decided not to wake me up on time this morning."

Kurt laughed. "Vell, surely you can see the humor—"

"Oh, of course. It's always _sooo_ funny when I miss a physics test because my boyfriend wanted to watch me sleep."

"I'm sure that the professor vill say you vere sick or something, since it vasn't your fault. Don't vorry about it, _Liebchen_!" He flashed a toothy grin, poking at her midsection to tickle her. She laughed and wriggled in her seat.

Jean, being virtually ignored in the midst of their good-natured arguing, chuckled and slung her bag over her shoulder, hastily dusting off her slender lap as she stood. She gave them a sideways wave as she left the kitchen, but neither of them noticed, and by the time she made it to the foyer they'd fallen almost silent, whispering and laughing between themselves. She stifled the urge to run back to the kitchen door and press her ear against the wood to listen in.

When she pulled open the front door and barged onto the porch, Kitty came clattering forward at the same moment. They collided with a terrible _crack_. Jean's bag flew open, scattering papers and spiral notebooks across the foyer, and she let out a squeak of surprise as she stumbled to regain her footing. The younger girl, as stunned as Jean was, grabbed her unintentional victim by the elbows to slow herself down, both girls shrieking in frightened surprise as they wheeled around and almost tumbled to the carpet. Kitty, in her panic, nearly phased through the floor, and a vase on a nearby table exploded in an errant strand of teke. Coming up the steps not far behind and looking resolute but unhurried, Rogue rolled her eyes.

Jean sighed and grasped Kitty's shoulder to lightly push her away, ignoring her hard breathing and anxious appearance to drop onto her knees and retrieve the strewn belongings. "What's _wrong_ with you?" she asked from the floor, a stack of papers under her arm.

"Jean, we, like, _totally_ have to talk to you, like, right now! I mean you aren't going to _believe_—"

"Would you _relax_?" Rogue demanded, folding her arms over her chest and leaning her back against the doorjamb. "Nobody can understand ya when you're talkin' all fast an' goofy like that."

Kitty glared at her, but went on unheeded as Jean rose to her feet. "No, like, seriously! This is _im-por-tant_." She struck her small white fist against the opposite palm with each syllable, trying hard to make her point. Her eyes were large and moist, glistening a misty-colored blue. Something in Kitty's tone promised that this really _was_ significant, and Jean took her friend by the elbow to lead her toward the kitchen, Rogue trailing behind as if she were bored.

"We were at school, and we were getting ready to, like, go out for lunch or something. We were gonna go to that little bistro that just opened on Faulkner. You know, the little café-style place with the umbrellas and the hottie waiter? He's, like, so _completely_ into me—"

"Kitty…"

"_Anyway_, we were almost to the car, and then that Quicksilver guy—" The kitchen door swung open as the three girls entered the room, revealing Kurt and Nat sitting side-by-side at the table. Kitty broke off, swallowing her words and looking as if she were about to choke on them.

Nat smiled up at them, but her face blanched when she heard mention of Pietro, and Jean immediately regretted bringing them into the kitchen for _this_ particular conversation. Rogue looked uncomfortable, and Kitty was utterly horror-stricken at being caught gossiping. Nat stared, white-cheeked. She bit her tongue.

"Wh-what happened with Pie…I mean, Quicksilver?" Kurt glanced at her, slightly irritated but not sure why, and Jean briefly thought she'd seen something flash bitingly between them. There was more going on with Pietro than she'd thought, then…

Kitty blinked hard, embarrassed and edgy. This _wasn_'_t_ how she'd planned on telling Jean. "N-nothing. He, um, was just…bothering us again." She pretended to cough, patting her lips lightly with her fingertips. "We…just wanted to talk to Jean about something." Another counterfeit cough. "It's, like, not all that important, really. Nothing that can't…wait."

There was a long awkward silence in which even Kurt didn't try to make a sound. Nat swallowed hard and rose slowly to her feet, sincerely doubting that it really _could_ wait. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and Jean was watching her, concerned. Kurt stared at her through the corner of his slightly narrowed eyes, his hand mere inches away, perfectly still. "I…should finish getting ready." She cleared he throat, and Kitty glanced down at her feet, kicking at the table leg to distract herself. "I'll see you all in a few minutes, I guess."

She walked at a snail's pace out of the kitchen and up the staircase, clutching the banister and barely able to lift her feet high enough to take the steps. Kurt's eyes lingered on her back for a moment before the door swung shut behind her, but neither Kitty nor Rogue even peeked at her. At some point, she heard the noise of a chair being pushed back and the door opening and closing as Kurt left the kitchen. He came up behind her, resting his hand gently on her hipbone and propping his chin on her shoulder. He was shyly silent for a few seconds.

"Vat vas _that_ all about?"

Nat swallowed and tried to blink back the tears that were congregating in her eyes. "You could have stayed and listened to what Kitty and Rogue have to say."

He shrugged, smiling in an attempt to soothe her, and brushed a curl away from her cheek. "It's not too important, Katchen said." He laughed, a happy sound that seemed odd to Nat's ear. "Besides, I don't think it's something that they vant me to hear. They came for Jean, I'm sure."

Her eye twitched and he felt her go tense, but she said nothing as they paused at the top of the stairs.

"_Was_, Nat?" It was a question and a sigh, an exhaling of emotion that he'd been holding in. Nat shivered and pulled away from him, twisting her tingling hands in front of her.

"I need to finish getting ready for school."

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Jean pinched the bridge of her nose, holding her eyes shut. "I don't know, Kitty. This seems so…wrong."

"That's what _Ah_ said." Rogue interjected, giving a brusque nod.

The younger girl's eyes went wide. "I'm not suggesting that we, like, abandon her. I just think we've got a right to know if she's…you know…dangerous to us. If she really _did_ hurt people…"

Jean sighed. "Look, I can't imagine that Professor Xavier is completely oblivious about Nat's past. He probably knows a lot more about her than we do—"

Kitty groaned, dropping her chin onto her palm. She sat straddling the back of a kitchen chair, speaking softly. "Look, I never wanted to, like, turn anybody against Nat or anything. I still consider her a friend, I really do. But we can't just…I don't know, _act_ like we didn't hear any of this."

"An' why not?" asked Rogue, frowning, with her hands on her hips. "Everyone here is _potentially_ dangerous, somehow. Otherwise, we wouldn't need tah _be_ here."

"But Quicksilver said she might be dangerous! I mean, if she could hurt someone that she'd been living with and going to school with for, like, years, then who's to say that she might not…get upset at us in the same way?"

Rogue was practically fuming. "Ah don't believe that, Kitty. Any one of us could turn on the team at any second, mahself included. There ain't a single person in this house that never doubted _mah_ loyalty. But did ya try to delve too deep into mah past when _Ah_ joined the team?"

"That's different."

"How?"

Kitty slapped the tabletop. "This isn't the same thing! Nat _lied_ to us!"

"She ain't said anything either way, an' ya know it!"

Jean shook her head, trying to ease the tension headache building in her temples. "Knock it off, both of you!"

There was a long moment when none of the girls dared to speak. Kitty broke the silence with a mournful little whisper. "Maybe we should, like, talk to Scott."

Jean's green eyes popped open. "No! That's the last thing we need right now! We can't start plotting and planning behind Nat's back as if she were an enemy. Scott doesn't need to hear any of these unproven _rumors_, and I don't want to find out that you've told anyone else, either." She wagged a finger in Kitty's face, which wore an aggravated scowl. "_Especially_ Kurt."

"Of course not! He wouldn't listen, anyway." Kitty chewed on her bottom lip, staring at her and looking thoughtful. "Hey. Okay, so we don't have any proof that Nat ever really lied to us. But could you…maybe…check up on that?"

Red hair falling into her eyes, Jean glared across the table at the younger girl, who was looking anxious. "Are you actually asking me to go into her head?"

"You say it like I want you to steal her diary and read it in public or something!"

"No, you want me to do something a million times worse!" Jean shot to her feet, spine rigid. Her eyes played with daggers in the air between them. Rogue stared at the tabletop, but she was frowning in thought.

"Ah don't know…maybe we oughtta make sure that she isn't lyin' to us straight out …then we can drop all this forever."

Jean's anger was a palpable thing. She stared at Kitty, who was fidgeting nervously in her seat, not one who often saw Jean angry. "I won't play any part in this." She shot a glare at Rogue. "And I hope you'll make the same decision."

She stormed out of the kitchen, the china cabinet beside the door rumbling and jerking on its hinges as she passed.

Kitty sniffed. "Thatwent _delightfully_ well."

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Jean sat in the front seat of her car, shaking with fury and fear. She didn't dare to take the keys or start the engine, not until she calmed down a bit. Her eyes were watery, her jaw tense.

How could she have missed it? There _was_ a secret in Nat's past, that had always been clear…and she did have that connection to Pietro, whatever that was about. But did that mean that she was a threat to the team, to the others? Despite her feelings for Kurt, and his for her, Nat had never shown herself to be particularly dedicated to the X-Men, or even to what they stood for. Of course, she _had_ just joined, and there hadn't been many opportunities for her to do so.

The night of the attack against Kurt, Nat's heart had blossomed with a hatred that Jean recognized all too well. They all felt that way sometimes, but with Nat…it had seemed stronger there, more…at home. Nat had the tendency to focus her anger on the world, a common affliction of those that the world had injured. There was just so much that Jean _didn_'_t_ know about the girl's past. Was it possible that she was in jeopardy of turning on the team to join the Brotherhood? Worse? Her attraction to Pietro was more than just physical, that was doubtless. Was it the ideas that he represented? If it was, Nat could never fully devote herself to the ideals that Xavier had set for his students.

That particular issue wasn't much of a threat, at the moment. Nat was far from joining them in the field. It was simply the idea that one of her friends might not be all that she seemed—or that she might be much more—that Jean shunned and dreaded. It put her on edge, and made her feel cold.

Nat had lied more than once, this Jean knew for sure. It's hard for a telepath to miss a nervous liar, but Nat was a much better one than most people were. Even so, every now and then Jean could feel that flicker of deception in her mental tone, a little burble that went higher or lower in tune than the rest and wouldn't let the thread of continuity pierce it. Nat wasn't totally honest, and had never been. Not with them, at least. It was possible that her personality was one that enjoyed lies, or that her past required them.

Either way, Jean was positive, even Xavier might not know the entire truth.


	29. Suspicious Reactions

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**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Suspicious Reactions**

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A shaft of light darted across her glasses, but Pietro fought the urge to look away from the white-hot radiance being sent into his face by the resulting refraction. He pressed his lips together, breathing hard through flared nostrils, the uncomfortable slither of sweat gliding along his spine. He squirmed, shifting his weight from left to right, right to left.__

_Why does she keep it so damn hot in here, anyway_?

Mystique glanced at him for a brief second, tapping a long, burgundy fingernail against her front teeth and letting her tongue trail tantalizingly over her upper lip. She smiled crookedly up at him from her seat, the ballpoint pen in her fingers shaking as she chuckled silently, reading his message off of the computer screen. A glare of sunlight from the open window once again caught her glasses, but the eyes behind them gleamed even more, the light there distasteful.

"This is excellent news, obviously. But did you really need to put it on file for me?"

He shrugged. "It just didn't seem like the kind of thing to say over the phone. I wasn't positive that you'd be here when I came, and I didn't want you to miss the message if I didn't see you until tomorrow." His voice sounded distant to his own ears, and he was beginning to wonder if she kept the room so warm with the express purpose of disorienting her guests. "After all, Magneto's been around a lot lately, and I thought maybe you'd be off with him this afternoon."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes." She sucked a breath in through the tiny "O" her mouth had formed, rapping on the corner of her desk with the pen. "But we aren't here to mince words, boy. Now I have to pose the real question: how far have we come in this mission?"

Pietro's pale eyes glittered, and his forehead beaded with perspiration "Much closer to our ends, I assure you, Mystique. We're not too far from getting our hands on her." He cleared his throat, catching the accidental double-meaning in his words. "So to speak."

She grinned. "Excellent. We need her by the end of the month, if that is at all possible. The sooner the better, I suppose. Magneto, I'm sure you've noticed, is becoming restless with our…lack of satisfactory performance. Perhaps I should send a few of the others to assist you?"

"No!" His intensity surprised them both, and Mystique's tapered left eyebrow shot up. He would have blushed, if he were anyone besides the immovable Pietro Maximoff. "I mean, n-no. I can handle this without them." He added a wicked grin, just for good measure. "I promise."

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Carefully, quietly, Nat slipped the door shut behind her. She let her hand, shaking in a way that the bones seemed to tremble, linger lightly on the brass knob, locking it with numbed fingers and making her way slowly to the bed. Not breathing, she sat down on the edge and crossed her bare feet at the ankles. Her palms were hot and dry, as if the skin there was wrinkling up and peeling away, so she rubbed them hastily on the taut denim that dressed her thighs. Her training with Logan and the Professor had helped her retain a slight measure of control over her abilities that she had not originally had, but her emotions ran high at the moment. She sat that way for a long while, listening intently but hearing nothing, her head cocked slightly to one side.

Outside the door, she got the eerie feeling that someone was listening to her, too.

It was Kurt. It had to be.

A wave of fear threatened to cascade down upon her, but did nothing to salve the throbbing discomfort growing in the back of her throat, where the entrapped sobs were fighting to break free. Hot tears bleared her vision, thick strands of hair curling out of the haphazard braids and into her face as she shook harder. Her hands ached and smoldered, crescent moon-shaped indentations creasing the supple flesh. Tiny tendrils of smoke snaked between her fingers. She longed to let her hands unfurl, but knew what the results would be.

Who was to say that they were talking about her? How could she know that Pietro had told them about her dirty little secret? And if he did, how much had he told? Only about the fire? The kiss? Both? Was Kurt downstairs right now, hearing all about her treachery? The thought wrenched a strangled cry from her.

And here she was, in a house full of her supposed friends, fearing that they were going to turn her onto the streets. How dare Pietro, and how dare Kitty, spread her past around like butter? If she chose not to tell, why did they think they had the right to share it with the world? It wasn't that egomaniac's secrets or Little-Miss-Shopping-Mall's past that they were sharing, but _hers_.

A sob broke free, and the smoke thickened, almost enough to make a normal person choke. With a little moan, she ran to the only place that she thought she might be able to stifle it: the shower.

She used her elbows to push back the vinyl curtain, patterned with brightly-colored fish and iridescent blue bubbles, and stepped into the stall. It didn't seem to matter in the slightest that the water was cold, or that she was dressed, only that she had to ease the burning in her hands. She stopped the drain and started the stream, and plunged her hands up to the forearm into the cool water that gathered at the bottom of the tub, cloudy with her hands' desperate attempts to burn through the water. Shower water and briny tears mixed bitterly with smoke, and the taste of defeat rested on her tongue.

This was the part she'd feared. More than the humiliation at possibly having been caught, more than the potential loss of friendship or the knowledge that they might know about her past, she feared this. More than the notion that they no longer saw her as the innocent she'd almost successfully carted herself as, Nat was afraid of the prospect of her own body going awry once again. Weeks of training in the Danger Room, running simulations that became progressively more difficult with each session, hadn't completely stopped her from losing control, and neither had the time she'd spent on Muir Island. She was a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the emotional fuse to be lit.

What if she really _was_ dangerous? As the sims grew in difficulty, Nat had taken them on as a good little X-Girlie should, donning her recently acquired uniform with the X-shaped yellow slash across the breasts and battling holographic foe after holographic criminal. Mostly, it was still nothing but kid's stuff. The others were usually absent for these "missions", although Kurt had been joining her more and more, so she could get used to the idea that this was all simple practice. God only knew how long it would be before she was deemed equipped to join the X-Men in the field, and the idea was a sort of quiet comfort to her. The longer it took before she had to really prove herself, the longer it would be before she could completely screw up.

For weeks, she had been thinking about the possibility of some day going into actual battle. It both unnerved and excited her, like the idea of doing something naughty but delightful at the same time, some sort of unacceptable sexual act. It would be her chance to show everyone that she wasn't a weakling, or a bumbling idiot without a sense of direction. If she could fight, she might be able to _win_. Her own interest terrified her, but the worst part was the idea that she might do something wrong, and a teammate might be hurt or killed as a result of her actions or inactions. That _Kurt_ might be hurt or killed.

Now, as she had feared so often, it wasn't her responses on the battlefield or even in the Danger Room that were at risk of hurting her friends, but her own body. Her own damnable _hands_! It wasn't enough that she had caused untold damage to her school, and before that, a memory locked away in her brain for only her to see and remember, to the house where her father had been staying. No car accident there, as she had once told Kurt. There are some things that even a telepath might miss, if he wasn't looking for it. Oh no, it was never enough, it seemed, until she had alienated and possibly injured all those people that were important to her.

Nat sighed, emitting a wretched, tremulous outward rush of air. Downstairs, they were probably still talking. About her? She wasn't sure, but the likelihood was definitely there. Shaking, she rose off of her knees and stepped out of the shower, standing in the center of the bathroom. Her hair was wet and tangled, her clothes soaked and clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Watery streaks of black charring dripped down her arms and onto the bathmat, and her bare feet were making her shiver with cold. She pulled her bathrobe off the hook behind the door and draped it around herself, and sat on the edge of the tub to think.

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The clink of silver on china was not an uncommon sound in the Xavier mansion at around six-thirty, but the unaccustomed silence of awkward diners was. They all sat in their normal seats, with Nat between Kurt and Ororo, eating a normal dinner and wearing their normal clothes. Scott, Evan and the adults, the only ones not clued into the situation, looked relatively concerned, but Xavier's lack of resolve seemed to calm them into a mild state of semi-discomfort. Scott kept making desperate little attempts at half-hearted conversation, and Ororo was carefully avoiding any subjects that she thought might be controversial. Logan, between bites of food, glanced at Nat, trying to decipher the situation and gauge her reaction to the odd behavior of the other students.

Nat's stomach churned to the point that she was ready to abandon the dinner table for the quiet solitude of her bedroom, but feared the responses of the others if she were to do so. Kurt, as gently supportive as ever, held her hand beneath the table, and she guessed that he hadn't heard anything yet. Kitty eyed her wearily, but smiled sheepishly, embarrassed, every time Nat caught her staring and tried to stifle a glare. Rogue was silent for the most part, but that was fairly common, and Evan seemed far too caught up in a magazine article that he was reading to care much about the comings and goings of his everyday family. Jean was the only one who looked as disturbed as Nat, flushed and silent, staring at her food uninterested.

Xavier glanced up at his students, briefly catching Logan's eye. Wolverine shrugged, not willing to go into an outward dialogue at the dinner table, but apparently engaged in a mental discussion. Nat gulped, and Xavier frowned.

"_You look peaked_, _Natalie_. _Perhaps you should retire early tonight._"

Nat started in her seat, surprised as she always was at Professor Xavier's preferred method of conversation, and blushed. She stared at the water in her glass, where the light reflected and bent among the ice cubes. "_That_'_s alright_,_ Professor. I just had a tiring day_,_ that_'_s all_. _Homework and stuff_. _I_'_ll be fine_, _really_."

Beside her, Kurt's elbow brushed against her own and he smiled, recognizing the signals of an internal meeting with the professor. Nat severed the link with Xavier and smiled at Kurt, pushing her carrots around on her plate with her fork. Jean was looking similarly preoccupied, frowning at her chicken as if she were arguing with it.

Evan provided the opportunity that Nat had been waiting for. When he got up and cleared his plate, and Rogue followed him in doing the same, Nat was finally able to make a break from the table without feeling conspicuous. She went through the standard after-dinner-cleaning-up-and-chatting routine with the others in the kitchen, but felt considerably less involved that usual. Her hands shook and dishes clattered noisily against one another whenever she touched them. By the time she was on her way up the stairs, she was feeling a little better, and took comfort in Kurt's hand holding hers.

From behind, Kitty coughed awkwardly, apparently determined to chalk up the remnants of the evening into some semblance of normality. Nat turned around the face the younger girl, whose face met Nat's midsection as she stared up from a lower step. "So, Nat…"

Nat swallowed and wished for a glass of water, settling between annoyance, anger and fear on a toadstool of somberness. "Yeah?"

"Did you, like…finish that physics project on time?"

Nat's speech took a momentary hiatus, unsure of the grounds of Kitty's chosen topic. Kurt smiled at her over his shoulder, and jerked his head to indicate that he'd be upstairs, winking at her to lighten her mood. Nat nodded at him, but paid attention to Kitty all the same. "Um, yeah. I got it done last week."

Kitty nodded. "Cool. I think that format will work pretty well."

"It looks like it. Um…thanks for your help. I didn't think I was ever going to figure it out."

There was a long pause, in which Kitty leaned against the banister, smiling and swinging her mousy-colored ponytail. "No problem." She cleared her throat. _I've got to do something so I don't_,_ like_,_ look like a total jerk_, Kitty thought.

There was an awkward pause, neither knowing what to say to the other, their discomfort palpable but its source indistinguishable. Nat still wasn't sure what had been said in the kitchen earlier that day, and Kitty felt more and more positive that she'd been caught spreading gossip. She sighed, wrinkling her pale brow.

"Hey, I just wanted to tell you—" she broke off, swallowing hard "—that I'm sorry I was talking about you earlier."

Nat blinked back a bit of moisture in her eyes, but nodded. "I thought you might have been."

"I…I didn't mean for you to hear me…" she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "That's not what I mean. I didn't, like, want you to hear me, but I guess…well, I shouldn't have been spreading rumors about you, anyway. So I'm, like, you know, sorry." She blushed, averting her gaze.

Nat felt her bottom lip quiver, her fingers begin to tingle. "Th-that's okay. I understand." There was a long pause as she thought of how to phrase this next question. "What did he say about me? Pietro, I mean."

Kitty shrugged. "Nothing really. Not anything important, I guess."

"If you suspect something of me," Nat continued, her blush becoming one of semi-anger, "I really wish that you'd tell me what you're thinking."

Blue eyes narrowed, Kitty grimaced slightly. "It was _nothing_. He just said that you, like, did some…things. A long time ago. What do _you_ think he said?"

Fury welled up within Nat's chest, fury at Pietro, fury at Kitty, and fury at herself for letting this all go on so long. She tried to pacify her tone, taking a deep, shaky breath. "_You_'_re_ the one going around telling everyone about my supposed past, not me. I don't think I should have to tell _you_ anything about what I think he said."

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it…"

"Of course not! You just meant to make my personal past into public knowledge!" Her emerald eyes flashed and her upper lip curled slightly, her hands starting to smoke for the second time that day. Nat rubbed her hands together, soothing their urge to blaze. Kitty shivered and inched backward a centimeter or two, trying not to look intimidated.

"So you mean it's, like, true?"

Nat's hands shot up in aggravation, the only emotion she seemed to be able to stay steadily on, and Kitty jerked nervously. "I told you already, I don't _know_ what he said! How can I tell you if it's true if you refuse to tell me what the hell he said?"

"Oh, fine! Never mind, then!" Kitty shouted, turning on her heels and stomping down the stairs, fuming. Nat caught sight of Jean standing near the front door with Scott, apparently heading out somewhere for the evening, and the redhead looked troubled by the sight of Kitty treading heavily away. Nat stood alone on the stairs with smoke trickling between her knuckles, and Jean saw her, too. The older girl's mouth curved into a rose-colored frown.

Tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, Nat turned and raced to her room, throwing her door shut and locking it behind her. She ignored Jean's loud, desparate mental calls from below, and threw herself onto the bed with a furious shout into the pillow, slamming her smoking fist into the bedside lamp. In her diverted state, she didn't notice Kurt sitting quietly at her computer desk until he spoke, and she jumped, startled.

"Vat vas _that_ all about?"


	30. Wooden Nickel Splinters

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Now you can see, through the streams in your eyes: every nickel is wood.

-_Jude_

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**Chapter Thirty: Wooden Nickel Splinters**

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Nat nearly doubled over in the pain of shock, her hands clutched tightly around the edge of the mattress. Her tongue felt thick and used, like a dry, scaly snake trapped in her mouth. On the floor beside the bed, a cluster of wires sparked and popped, emitting tiny fireworks from the shattered ceramic shards that had once been the lamp. Kurt reached down and pulled the plug deftly out of the outlet with a jerk of his wrist, and spun the cord in a circle, smiling. He eyed Nat carefully, his expression one of concern, and Nat stared back with a little shiver.

She noted his fretful appearance and felt herself go cold. A mass of ice settled at the base of her stomach to contrast the burning of her limbs, and she pressed her fingertips to her eyelids so she wouldn't have to look him in the face.

"Nat? _Was_? Are you alright?" His voice was thick with anxiety over her distressed condition, which didn't help the way she was feeling. Guilt swept in and washed over her fury, but didn't serve to flush it away.

Her cheeks were wet, and she hid her eyes from his line of sight. Still, she didn't resist when she felt the mattress bow as he sat down next to her, bringing her right thigh into contact with his left one, or when he drew her against his chest. The idea was a simple one, really: go limp, let herself fall floppy and numb like a rag doll, and maybe she would manage to take comfort in his nearness and calm down sooner. It didn't seem to work, but at least the sobs of the earlier day had been replaced with the more composed look of a mere wet face. His shoulder was hard, but the curve where it met his neck was warm, and she let her cheek take haven in it.

His indigo hands trailed along her back, and his chin came to rest on the top of her head. He shushed her gently, swaying a bit from side to side. "_Was_, Nat?"

"I…I did something terrible a while ago," her voice caught in her throat in the form of a whimper, "and I think it's finally come back for me."

Kurt's amber eyes narrowed, but he chuckled. "_Um Himmels willen_, Nat! It can't be as bad as all that." He brushed a dark curl out of her eyes in a gesture of comfort, and she blushed absently.

She sniffled, gazing at the shattered lamp and the displaced books and papers from the bedside table. "How do _you_ know?"

"Vell, how do _you_ know it's so bad?"

Angry again, but unsure of her real target, Nat shoved him away, getting to her feet and stalking over to the window, arms crossed over her chest. "Damn it, Kurt!" Outside, she could see heat lines wavering over the trees in the distance, and the appealing glint of the swimming pool and Breakstone Lake not far away. She focused on one tree, a scrawny, flaccid thing that looked choked in the early summer heat. "Why do you always turn my questions around so I look like a moron? I know when I've done something wrong, and this time I really have!"

Kurt blinked, surprised. "I…I didn't know I vas doing that." He swallowed, frowning at her as he approached from behind, keeping a safe few meters between them. "I'm sorry. Und I vant to know all about it, if you vant to tell me." Cautiously, he circled her until he came to a stop at the left side of the window frame, watching her intently in the long silence that followed.

"So?" she asked in a quiet, strangled voice.

"_Was_?"

He frowned at the sight of her glare, and tears gathering heavily in her eyes. "Go on! Get out of here, if you want to hear it so badly!" She raised on trembling hand and pointed at the door, barking, "Get out of here and hear all the dirt from your little friend Kitty!"

"_Nein_, I'd rather _you_ tell me," he said softly. Nat's arm dropped lifelessly and she turned back to the window, bracing herself on her hands. Her anger seemed temporarily drained, but Kurt found that he had a little to share instead. "_Verflucht_, Nat!" he cried, grasping her by the shoulders and spinning her around so he could meet her stunned eyes. Her mouth was a tiny circle, her cheeks bright white.

"Get _off_ of me!" she shrieked, tearing her arm from his grip, rage flaring to life again like a fickle storm, perpetually horizon-dwelling but unsure of its direction. The fear and anger of being manhandled by Pietro was still fresh in her mind. "Go talk to _her_! She doesn't seem to mind talking about it in the slightest, seeing as how she's been spreading my past round like it's her business rather than mine. So go talk to her! Wouldn't that be a whole lot simpler that all of this?"

"_Nein_, _nein_ it vouldn't! I vant _you_ to tell me. After all his time, all this _verdammt_ secrecy, I think I have a right to know vat you think is so terrible that you've never had the guts to tell me about it!" He took her shoulders again, shaking her lightly, his voice dropping a note and calming. "Vat do you think I'm going to do ven I find out this secret of yours?"

Her green eyes were haunted, and she whispered, "I…I don't know, I guess. Nothing, maybe. Or a lot."

Gently, Kurt's hands slid down to her elbows, grasping them and bringing her closer, so her hands were against his chest. He didn't flinch at the inhuman heat that they gave off, and she stared at him, searching for something in his gaze. He went on kindly. "Is it that you think I'll be mad at you? Is that vy you're afraid to tell me?"

"I…don't know."

He laughed quietly, a characteristically easy sound that seemed out of place in the tense room. It bit her to the bone to think how painless it was for him to laugh, and how hard it was for her. "Vell, for someone who thinks they know all about this terrible thing they did, you don't seem to know much about how I'll react."

"Please, Kurt. Don't tease me now."

Kurt shrugged, pulling her into a gentle embrace. His voice was soft and near her ear, and her cheek again nuzzled the side of his neck, feeling the soft, warm fuzz there. "Okay, _mein Flamme_. No teasing now."

His eyes drifted shut, but Nat kept hers broad and unblinking. She felt his body beneath her touch, soothingly cool under her hot fingers. The beating of his heart was not far beneath the fabric of his shirt and the flesh of his chest, and she wondered obscurely why it seemed that she could feel it even when she wasn't touching him. She sighed. "Do you really want to know?"

"_Ja_,_ ja_. I really do."

She swallowed hard. Her breath came in shaky gasps, but she continued, almost unbroken in her speech. "Okay. Okay, I think I can do this. I think I can tell you."

"Vith me, you can say anything. You know that, right?"

She nodded, reining in fresh tears and clenching her hands into fists. "I don't have much control over my powers, even here. I never have." She started to shake, and bit her tongue. "I've caused some awful fires." A knot tied in her tongue to keep calm, and made her mouth feel like it was lined with cotton. "People have been…hurt."

There was a prolonged moment before Kurt found the words to speak again. "_Ja_, Nat, I know _das_."

Agony almost exploded in her chest, a wave of surprise and furious fear. Had he already heard from someone? Pietro? The _professor_? Desperation clouded her sense of reality, but curiosity drove her desire to know what was happening here. "What do you mean, you _know_? Who told you?"

"_Niemand_! Nobody told me, _Liebchen._ At least not out loud. I think maybe _you_ told me. I like to think that I know you pretty vell. I could…I don't know, _see_ it. In your eyes, and the vay you carried it around on your heart." He shrugged. "The vay you reacted ven the table caught on fire that night on Muir Island, and the vay you alvays avoided questions about your past."

If he already knew, than what was the point of hiding anymore? Relief flooded through her, accompanied by a vague humiliation. "You mean…you could just…_tell_?"

He chuckled lightly. "I suppose so. But I vas never absolutely sure, and I knew you didn't vant to talk about it. So I just pretended that I knew nothing, and you didn't seem to mind."

Her cheeks blazed in an inexplicable annoyance. She'd tried so hard not to let him find out these things, and had spent countless nights agonizing over how she would tell him when he found something out, as he undoubtedly would some day. Now, she found out that he had already known, and possibly for as long as she had been hiding it. It was almost like being mocked, and she sought her mind for the proper response, which turned out to be an attempt to shock him. 

"I killed my father, you know."

Kurt's face twitched, his yellow eyes shocked at her candor. Behind him, his barbed, devilish blue tail stopped flicking at the air and was still. "_Was_?"

She nodded, and words began to spill from her like wine from a bottle now that the cork had been broken. "A few years ago. There was no car accident, like I told you there was." She began to pace, unable to meet the face of her sweet-voiced companion. Smoke coils circled her body, but no flame was present, and she seemed unconcerned about it. "I was upset that he hadn't come to see me in so long, that he had abandoned me as soon as he realized that I was a mutant. He called me a freak. Did you know that? Right to my face, when I was eleven years old! 'Dirty mutie freak', he said, with some other words I don't want to remember, and spat at me. He smelled like cheap booze and hatred and God damned betrayal, and I hated him almost as much as I loved him!" She was trembling now, her entire body lost in the heat of the memory.

Kurt remained silent, but backed up slowly and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, watching her with mournful eyes. He looked weak, confused, his large hands clenched into nervous fists. Nat went on, unable to stop herself now that she had begun.

"So, when I was fourteen, and I went to see him…the truth was that he was as screwed up as ever, and a filthy drunk to boot. But I still loved him, because I'm dumb, I guess, and I tried to talk to him. And when he turned me away again—" a snap of her fingers "—the old man got roasted, in a split second of lost control. The last thing I said to him was that I hated him." She quavered in voice and body, her green eyes glazed and her cheeks ashen. She stopped pacing, once more at the window, and hugged her arms to her body to keep warm despite the summer heat outside.

Not far away, Kurt's voice was tender, carefully moderated in the quiet of the room. "You know, sometimes the hardest part of these things is admitting to it. Maybe now you can…let it go."

A jolt ran the length of her body, and when she slid slowly downward she lost sight of him for a moment, then found him at her side. Her knees were on the carpet, her feet tucked awkwardly beneath her, and he sat beside her with his arm around her waist. "I tried, Kurt, I really did. But I can't let it go when it keeps happening over and over again! It happened at my last school, and nobody got killed, but I destroyed the entire building! I almost blinded a girl, and everyone could have _died_!" She drew in a shaky breath. "And you've seen me lose control more than once, on a smaller scale. What would I do if it got out of hand?"

Kurt didn't answer for a few long minutes, and when he spoke his tone was hushed. "You vere just a kid, though, ven your father vas…lost. It vasn't intentional, and it vasn't you're fault. None of us knew how to control our powers that long ago. And the last time, at your school…I'm sure it vas an accident. You've already improved your control in the short time you've been vith us at the institute." He hesitated, glancing down at her and noting her far-off, troubled expression. "But…vas that the last?"

She shook her head as he pulled her closer to him, her head tucked under his chin again. "No. It's never the last. Never _has_ been, at least."

Kurt sighed. Of all the things he had expected to hear, her father's accidental death was not one of them. Pain gnawed at his insides, an ache brought on by what she must have been feeling to hide this for so many years. How horrible it must have been, to think that the world would blame you for your accidental crimes, and to probably be right! He was feared for his appearance, a fact that he tried stringently not to dwell upon or complain about, and the world saw him as a demon. And poor Nat, this gentle girl that no one seemed to know very well, was feared as a hazard. The worst part, Kurt assumed, was that she too saw herself as a liability, a potential danger to others. She was afraid of herself, because the world was afraid of her. "That's alright. Here, vith us, you can learn to control yourself more. Soon, you von't have to vorry about your fire going crazy on you. I promise."

Nat squeezed her eyes shut, blotting out the world that had gone hazy through a veil of tears. "Don't promise, Kurt, please. Not when it can't really be kept." She sniffled lightly, rubbing her eyelids with the back of her hand. "I haven't told anybody yet, but…" 

"_Was_?"

"It's been getting worse." She nodded at his questioning glance, pressing her cheek against his collar with a sigh. "The fire. I feel like my hands are going to…I can't even think of a word for it! It's as if there's a fire inside me, quite literally, that's coming out more and more and more these days. I never used to make smoke like this. Sometimes…sometimes it's all over my body, in my eyes and my stomach and my chest, not just my fingers anymore. It's like it's swallowing me, and I feel it burning but it never harms me. Just everything around me."

Thoughts were whirling through his head. He gave her a tight squeeze. "You should tell the professor about this. It's possible that your powers are further implementing themselves, und he can help you harness them before they get too strong for you to handle."

"But why? Why would that happen _now_? I've had these abilities for years, and suddenly it's as if they're getting stronger! Why wouldn't they just start out this way?"

With another embrace and a brief shrug, Kurt went on, gently patting her shoulder. "I don't really know vy, _Liebchen_, but I've heard that it sometimes happens."

Nat drummed her fingers against the floor. "I'm tired of feeling so _helpless_ all the time! And all I want to do is either get rid of it, or…use it. To…I don't know, burn down the world."

He chuckled. "Vell, I don't think that vould help _anyvun_ much."

"I don't care. There's still a few people I wouldn't mind getting rid of."

There was a silence, long and slightly uncomfortable. "_Warem_, for instance?"

"Those F.O.H. idiots, for one. Each and every one, starting with the ones that hurt you."

Kurt chortled. "Vat do you know? I have my very own vigilante."

Nat sighed. "And Pietro Maximoff. That little snot's going to regret the day he messed with me, I'll make sure of it."

"Is he the vun that's spreading rumors?" When she nodded, he shook his head. "I vouldn't vorry too much about Quicksilver. He has an ego, and he doesn't let anyvun forget about it, but for the most part he seems pretty harmless," Kurt reasoned, trying to calm his livid companion. He frowned a little, thinking to himself, and continued. "Except for his _hair_. Vas is up vith his hair, anyvay? It looks like he fell into a bucket of bleach, and then tried to give himself a pair of antennae."

Nat swallowed a grin, but frowned slightly at the same time. "I don't know why I bother having serious conversations with you, Elfie boy. It only works about half of the time."

Kurt smiled back, laughing. "Because I'm a fabulous conversationalist. And dead freakin' sexy to boot. Or maybe just freaky." He placed a finger to his chest and batted his eyes, trying to make her giggle.

Part of her wanted to play along, to steer away from the dangerous little tête-à-tête they had begun, but the rest of her wanted to get the remainder of it out into the air. To Nat, there was something outlandish in the way he was acting. It just didn't seem right for him to behave as if he was so unruffled, like he didn't really understand what she was trying to tell him. Her face flushed, annoyed, and her jaw twitched as she clenched her teeth together. Why was he reacting like this? She nearly sneered, and pulled away from him, her expression lost between disgust at herself and confusion at his calm, almost jovial, temperament.

Memories of that one disloyal moment, that vicious kiss that had tainted her mind so completely, flooded her heart, and guilt bulged at her seams. His hands on her lower back felt like weighty reminders of her indiscretion, and a gnawing had begun at her mind, like a hungry rat.

"Doesn't it bother you that Pietro knew something about me before you did?"

His indigo brow furrowed. "I hadn't really thought about it. I suppose it does bother me, a little."

She swallowed, her eyes shuddering, and stared at the floor. "I have to tell you one more thing."

Kurt pulled back a bit, so they were no longer intertwined on the ground. They were opposite each other now, just inches apart, their knees almost meeting. He looked nervous, engrossed but afraid to hear what she had to say. She was beginning to feel distinctly nauseated.

"Go ahead," he said with a little crooked smile, reaching out to pat the back of her hand. She turned her hand over, grasping his fingers for one desperate moment so she could cling to his touch for that few seconds longer, fearing that this would be the last instant of its kind.

"I've done something to _you_, Kurt." She cleared her throat. "I don't know if you'll be able to forgive me so easily for this, because this was something I _could_ have helped."

He frowned, his eyebrows making downward slopes above his golden eyes, his lips thin and navy blue. His hands laid motionless, and Nat's heart seemed to stop beating for a time. "_Ja_…"

She bowed her head like a scorned child, tears dripping into her lap. "You remember that day when the tire went out, on the camping trip? When Pietro showed up?" She looked at him, and he nodded, so she went on in a dithering voice. "He…wanted to talk to me…and we were talking…and he kissed me."

There was a tiny twitch on Kurt's face before anger started to well up in his expression. "Ach! _Zum Teufel_…I'll kill him, I swear to _Gott_, if he comes near you again!" His sweet eyes fell, his hands coming up to cup her face. "Oh, _bitte_, Nat, please forgive me for leaving you alone with that _Schwein_!"

Comprehension dawned in Nat's eyes when she realized what poor Kurt was thinking, and her heart nearly broke in that flash. She had begun to tremble, and she squeezed his fingers in her smaller ones again, tears obscuring her vision. "No, Kurt. No, that's not it at all. God, I only wish..."

"_Dann_…_was_?"

She leaned in closer, so her forehead nearly touched his, pressing her lips to his for a moment or two, but he didn't respond much. A little sob escaped her. "I…kissed him, too."

The look on Kurt's face made Nat want to collapse into ashes. His eyes went wide for what felt like an era, and his tail spasmed jerkily in the air. Gradually, he pulled his hands away from hers, his lips twisting into a heartbreaking knot. He rose slowly to his feet, turning away from her so she couldn't see his eyes when he started to cry. His slim shoulders were tight, the muscles in his neck tense and bunched like the fists that hung inertly at his sides.

"Kurt, I…"

"_Bitte_," he said, his voice sharp. "_Nein_. _Gerade_…_nein._"

Before she could respond, he turned on his heel, and was gone from the room.


	31. Nuance of Decapitation

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**Chapter Thirty-One: Nuance of Decapitation**

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Something was happening down the hall, and there was no _way_ she was missing this. Kitty phased her head through her bedroom door and looked down the long corridor, watching as Kurt left Nat's bedroom. He moved quietly but clumsily, completely unlike his usual self, and paused for a moment to close the door behind him with a soft sound of the door and jamb chafing briefly together. Obscurely, she noticed that his tail didn't look particularly cheerful, and even seemed a little droopy, like that of a defeated puppy. If it weren't for the current situation, it might have struck her as funny.

He cocked his head a little to catch her in his sights, and she noticed the uncharacteristic glimmer of moisture in his eyes before he glanced quickly away. She stared at him, unable to think of something appropriate to say, and he was gone in a puff of rose-tinted smoke before she could regain her faculties.

A mixture of irritation and guilt solidified like a lump of plaster of Paris in Kitty's chest, and she bit her bottom lip until it started to hurt. The scene wracked her with emotions, most of which were quickly pressed down and filed away for later consideration.

_That certainly didn_'_t look good_, she thought, and slid mutely into the hallway. She stood motionless at the top of the stairs, leaning her elbows on the banister, her hair falling out of her ponytail and into her face. She absentmindedly flicked her hair out of her eyes and glanced one way, toward Nat's bedroom, and then the opposite way, toward Kurt's. He was probably in there at that very moment, upset and wounded because she'd been spreading secrets about his girlfriend. And Nat…Kitty didn't even want to think about what _she_ was thinking. Remorse weighed heavily on her mind, but a sense of self-righteousness remained. After all, Kitty Pryde hadn't told Kurt about Nat's secrets. Nat had done that herself, and Kitty had only been telling what she'd heard because she was concerned about the safety of her friends. _Right_?

She had to admit, she wasn't entirely sure _why_ she'd been so eager to tell. Part of her, the biggest part actually, was simply concerned, just as she was trying to convince herself. Really, she hadn't been motivated by much more than worry about the welfare of her surrogate family. There might have been a small part of her that had been playing with the gossip for fun, but she definitely never intended to cause a fight between Nat and Kurt.

The idea that concerned her was that she might have done it out of the tiniest shred of resentment, some deep-down, pathetic, twisted little spasm of jealousy. Since she had arrived at the Xavier Institute during her freshman year, she'd put up with, shrugged off, snubbed and occasionally blatantly insulted Kurt's modest attempts to impress her. Neither of them had ever initiated a relationship that went beyond a first-rate friendship, and both of them had been reasonably content with the situation, at least since Kurt's transparent adoration of her had died down after they had gotten to know one another better.

Kitty sighed and made her way down the stairs, her feet moving inaudibly over the carpeted floor.

When she found herself standing at the door to the professor's office, she took a few shaky breaths before she rapped lightly and was mentally beckoned to enter. She stared for a moment at the grain of the dark wood, but pushed herself on and entered the office, her body doing imaginary flip-flops in her nervousness. Her stomach felt fluttery and her mouth tasted vaguely sour.

Inside, Xavier was at his desk, his forehead furrowed slightly, and a stitch of regret stabbed at Kitty's midsection. Xavier's long-fingered hand was held to his temple, and sweat was beading faintly on his smooth brow. It gave her the fearful impression that he already knew what she was here to say, and was disturbed, even angered, by it.

Kitty swallowed hard, licking her lips in her unexpected nervousness. She wiped her hands on the seat of her pants as if to rid them of some invisible dust, like the traces of a crime. "Are…are you, like, too busy to talk?"

Xavier said nothing, but nodded for her to take a seat, his fingers still massaging just above his ear as if his head hurt terribly. He smiled lightly to salve her cramping pangs of assertion, knowing that he would have to ease Kitty's mounting sense of guilt before moving on to Kurt and Natalie. "Of course not, Kathryn. You know my door is always open to you. To you and to all of my students."

Before he could continue, Kitty's hands rose to her lips, smothering a gaspy little groan. Her eyes were crestfallen and distressed but essentially free of tears as she flopped down in the chair. "I…I think I _totally_ screwed up this time, Professor Xavier."

He sighed, a sound that seemed surprisingly weary to even his own ears. "This is regarding Natalie's…private history, is it not?"

Kitty's aqua-colored eyes shot upward, her mouth a tiny circle of shock. "You knew about that? _Before_?"

"I did." Xavier pushed his wheelchair out and away from the desk until he was facing Kitty's seat directly, so the two of them were only a meter or so apart. He folded his hands in his lap on top of the thick gray blanket that covered his legs, steepling his fingers into a strangely familiar shape, like the battlements in a picture book or the tower in a nursery rhyme. "She was hoping to reveal it to the others eventually, but…in her own time."

The girl's face fell. "I didn't…well…_mean_ anything by it, Professor. Really, I didn't." She wiped her face suddenly, blinking hard. "I didn't mean for her to hear me talking, or for Kurt to find out. I just wanted to ask Jean what she thought I should do."

"Ah." He shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his patrician nose. "So Kurt _does_ know?"

"Uh-huh," Kitty sniffled, nodding a bit.

"I suspected as much."

There was a long pause, and Kitty steeled herself for a lecture, letting her spine go rigid and refusing to meet the professor's gaze straight on. Xavier, on the other hand, was simply lost in thought. He could "hear" Nat and Kurt upstairs in their rooms, both confused and upset. Nat's thoughts were jumbled, almost frantic, but she was calm enough that he knew she wasn't in any danger of doing something rash. Kurt, as buoyant as his attitude normally was, was remarkably upset. The poor boy's heart had nearly shattered in one dreadful instant only a few minutes before, and the wave of emotion that cascaded down upon the mansion had left little doubt that some terrible secret had been revealed. The young German was hardly a judgmental individual, and he could more than likely have stomached Nat's revelation about her involvement in the fire at the school. His pain was not simply one of shock. It was one of betrayal. It seemed to Xavier that she must have shared more with Kurt than she had shared with himself, even under moderate psychic prodding.

He nodded, his brow creased and his expression resolute as a thought formed within his brain. "Kathryn—"

She didn't let him continue. "Oh, Professor! I can't believe how much trouble this has caused."

The girl sniffled again, beginning to cry softly to herself, and he wheeled closer to gently pat her thin, slightly angular shoulder. "I'm aware that you were concerned for the safety of all of us, and for the institute. Please, Kitty. Know that I understand." He squeezed her arm. "And know, as strongly now as ever, that Natalie would never bring intentional harm to any of us. She simply isn't that kind of a girl."

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Nat leaned out past the edge of the windowsill, bracing her palms on the lip and peering out as far as she could. Her dark hair fluttered faintly in a gentle draft, but the curtains were to heavy to do the same, so they hung impotently and innately like heavy old men. The air outside was parched and summery, picking up the scent of grass on an arid breeze that did nothing to cool her skin as she leaned out farther. It was the kind of weather that was most dangerous for her, the kind when anything dry went up like tinder. Worse, when the weather was like this, it often seemed that the whole world was dry. In the distance, the hills on one end of the horizon and the ocean on the other looked peaceful and calm, so much separate from her world at the moment.

Just down the hall, she could imagine Kurt's room, and even Kurt himself. The room looked no different than usual in her head, with a few posters on the walls and the computer's screensaver flickering brightly colored images as it sat on the desk against the wall. There were probably shoes and dirty clothes scattered here and there, and the bedside table bore the plastic water glass that he always kept beside his bed, bearing an ancient, peeling picture of Batman, which had made her laugh wildly the first time she'd seen it. His stereo was probably on, turned up a bit so nobody could hear him. He might be furiously destroying every bit of evidence of her existence, of their relationship. He might be writing her a hateful, scathing letter, or even consoling himself by thinking of how horrible she was.

Or, most awful of all, most painfully, rawly, probable of all, he might be crying.

The idea that she had hurt him so badly wrenched at her insides, and made her think, fleetingly perhaps, of the possibility of leaning just a centimeter or two too far over the protective brace that the windowsill provided, and letting her body's own inertia do the rest.

A wretched, aching lump had returned to her throat, and she longed for something to drink. Pulling her body back into the room, she slunk slowly into the bathroom and turned on the faucet with throbbing fingers, letting the cool water drape around her hands like a liquid cloak, splashing her face a bit and letting a few of the precious droplets glide over her tongue. It was like a present to herself, and she would allow herself no more than a little of it. She let herself descend gradually to her knees, keeping her hands wrapped around the edge of the sink so she wouldn't drop too quickly, and pressed her forehead, which was feverish now as the frenzy of fire spread from her hands and into the rest of her body, against the steamy chrome cabinetry.

There was a weight that was gone from her spirit that had been dropped onto her head a thousand times heavier. It was as if speaking to Kurt of her dishonesty, her terrible lie, had lifted a part of her from the dirt at her feet, only to be flung back down again and trampled by the unbearable results of her own confession. He had taken her admissions of past wrongs, the accidental deaths, and taken them with comparable ease as a sick man takes a pill. She had hurt him, and hurt herself in the process. With a lie that had become truth without losing the memory of its duplicity, it was as if she had lost a part of her.

Alone on the bathroom floor, wet and smoky-scented with thoughts of regret raging between her ears, Nat Fairbanks felt the ache of a sudden self-decapitation.

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It was relatively easy to get past the security system, as it had always been. Of course, the X-Geeks periodically changed the setup of the precautionary technology, moving this camera here and that sensor there, but it was little more than a meager challenge to someone with his talents and abilities. Tiny mechanical eyes buzzed and blinked, watching the grounds, but he shot past without causing so much as a blip in normal operating procedure.

He crouched at the edge of the mansion, against the wall where there was less of a chance of being spotted by anything, man or machine. The bushes prickled at his skin as mosquitoes droned in a tiny horde around his head, and he swatted at them in irritation. Perspiration drizzled along his spine as if he were trying to marinate himself, making his hair cling to the back of his neck in sweaty white tendrils.

He rubbed his palms together and glanced up at the house, and at the sky behind. The white-curtained window on the end, open to the warm evening air, was Nat's bedroom. He saw her leaning out over the edge of the windowsill, and then she disappeared inside. His eyes lingered on the dark room for a moment longer than he intended, wondering why the lights were off when she was obviously present. He had to stifle the desire to either chuck a brick into the open window or climb up the ivy-covered wall to hop into the room, so he instead pulled his backpack off of his shoulders and unzipped it quietly, still dodging the angry jaws of the insects.

Licking his lips, which were suddenly drier than they should be, he pulled out the necessary tools for the job. A few more minutes, and he could do what he'd come for and hightail it out of the area as quickly as possible.

Shivering slightly, and trying to pass it off as a chill from the cooling air as night began to fall, the lean-bodied young man in the bushes quietly rattled the small box to make sure that none of the miniature sulfur wands had fallen out. Taking a deep breath, he crouched beneath another open window, this one on the ground floor, and licked his lips again in preparation for the upcoming spectacle.

He pulled the first of his tiny tools from the backpack, and splashed it lightly, little more than a few drops, into the window. A strong, foul odor wafted into his nostrils, and he fought the urge to sneeze or cringe in disgust. His booted feet were sinking slowly into the soft, dark soil at the roots of the roses, but the dirt only a few yards away was dry and hard, making him snicker. The lawn had apparently been neglected for a day or two by that damned weather witch. He wondered only a few moments too late if he'd been careful enough not to spill any of the substance on the dry grass, but the thought, brief as it was, was almost instantly swallowed up by his own anxiousness and forgotten.

The second step was the harder one. His entire body was tense, and sorely protested his crouching position, but he scolded himself for his silliness and blinked the salt of sweat from his eyes. This was it. Only a few seconds more, and the task would finally be over and done with. Nat was as good as ousted from the X-Men, and back onto his territory. Just the way he liked it.

Biting his tongue in harsh, jittery anticipation, Pietro Maximoff pulled out the match.


	32. Return of the Diadem

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**Chapter Thirty-Two: Return of the Diadem**

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It probably wouldn't have gone so far if it hadn't been for the grass. The plan had been simple: get a few small flames going in a room on the ground floor, not too distant from Nat's own bedroom, and just sit back and wait for the sparks to fly. So to speak. The perfect circumstantial evidence, he hoped.

Instead, Pietro soon learned that he was going to get a lot more than he had bargained for.

He paused in the rosebushes for a few seconds after the scent of flame was evident on the breeze, and flicked the match carelessly to the ground as he prepared to leave. It laid there, smoldering faintly for a moment or two as his mind vaguely registered the enormity of his mistake, a chill racing through his body. Unfortunately, the dry blades of grass, colored a dull green but tinged on the edges with gold, took the opportunity to erupt in a blaze so bright it made his stunned eyes begin to water due to his close proximity. The fire that was supposed to have been contained within a few meters of the window was suddenly much larger than that, and rapidly spreading both toward and away from the mansion.

Suppressing an undignified squawk, Pietro reeled back into the bushes, his back striking firmly against the brick wall behind him. He glanced from side to side, searching for something to do before this got out of hand. His legs were tense, his muscles urging him to run and not look back. There was the sudden, abstract feeling that someone suspected his presence as a mental tendril swept out over the flames, but he felt reasonably secure in the fact that he remained undiscovered. He had been careful to approach when Wolverine's motorcycle was nowhere to be found, hopefully ensuring that his plans could go unimpeded by the Canadian's dauntingly powerful nose, but a telepath is even harder to hide from than a wolf-man.

A breeze picked up, moving first one way and then another, gusting gently toward the house, and the flames danced and licked and tumbled, as if in a perverse sort of race. Fear gripped his chest, but the plan lingered most on his mind. At least, that's what he _told_ himself was pushing him onward, pushing him to warn Nat and the others before this was beyond control. His backpack fell to the ground and scattered his supplies as he dropped to his knees to search for a small rock in the flowerbed. Chortling comically, almost hysterically, over his small success, he grasped a small, round orb of stone that seemed appropriate, and hurled it toward Nat's bedroom window. It bounced pitifully off of the trellis, making little sound against the dull roar of the fire, and he cursed loudly, falling down again to search for another.

This time, the stone, larger than the first, struck the windowsill with a loud _thud_, making what he hoped was enough noise to arouse any inhabitants. It was supposed to warn _Nat_, as he was hoping, but he could deal with someone else if that was how it ended up. He skittered back into the bushes, trying to scoop up all of his fallen materials so none would be left behind to incriminate him, desperately wishing that the batteries in the fire alarms had been replaced more recently. The tendril of mental energy was leaping and jumping out along the area, originating from the center of the flames inside the house, sluggish and disorganized. All the while, the fire was gaining the upper hand, and he knew his time was running low.

The tendril tripped over his mind just then, and ascertained the cause of the trouble. It knew, now, what was happening here, and who was to blame. Even Pietro could notice its uncharacteristic laboring, though, and the notion that Xavier could have been in that flaming room, and was now in danger, made his heart momentarily stop. The old bald telepath might be the self-righteous leader of his enemies, but he was also Magneto's oldest friend. And that most certainly did _not_ put Pietro in a good spot.

The external flames were now around waist-height, and rapidly closing in on the house. The flames inside weren't yet as strong, creating mostly thick smoke and heat, but they would be twice as intense when the two segments joined and fueled each other. An alarm had begun to blare loudly and incessantly, shaking Pietro's concentration further, the urge to flee growing stronger. He rose to his feet and sought a thin place in the wall of fire, now just thirty centimeters or so from the window, and within millimeters of his own toes.

Just as he caught sight of a thin area which seemed possible to run through, he noticed with heart-wrenching clarity the small bottle of odorless, flammable liquid at his feet, just waiting to be lit by the raging inferno approaching the mansion with frightening speed. Shouting the foulest English and Polish words he knew and a few that he was making up, Pietro reached down and grasped the bottle in mid-step, trying to run and pick it up at the same time. A great deal more of the liquid sloshed around the rosebushes, and the flames exploded powerfully behind him. His lungs were seared with the atrocious injustice he was dealing them, and coughing wrenched his body.

But he was already well outside the grounds, sooty but mostly unhurt. His heart pounded, and his blistered hands bled.

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The sound of the alarm was harsh and piercing, emitting a mechanical scream as if the building itself was in terrible pain. Nat, disoriented with an unexpected fear, jumped up from the floor and glanced around, looking for a possible source of the horrendous sound. It almost made her forget the thud she had heard at the window, but her shaken mind clung to the idea that it might have had some correlation, and she stumbled over to the window with her feet in a knot.

As soon as her head was stuck into the nighttime air, the scent of flame was laid thick in her nostrils. She dismissed it as her own smoky skin for a moment, until a horrifying heat struck her face, and she glanced down to see the glaring brightness of the growing orange blaze.

Terror gripped her from brain to soles, and she began to tremble. The only grounding she had was a sudden, horrible thought: not only was the fire extremely nearby and rapidly spreading, it was also erupted from within the professor's study, where he was more than likely located. She heard Jean's frightened mental cry, reaching out to see that everyone was alright, but it was drowned out by Xavier's own telepathic message. The man was disoriented, crying out, unable to form a clear picture of what had happened.

The only thing that came through was that it hadn't been an accident, and he was in _trouble_.

Nat, with a jolt, realized that she was the nearest person to the office and the trapped professor, _and_ the only person that could enter the fire without being badly harmed. Rogue and Evan were in the danger room, far from the study, and the rest were in their rooms or equally removed from the fray. Ororo and Logan weren't even in the mansion, and the thought terrified her as a child is frightened when he realizes that he is home alone, unsupervised and unprotected, and something dangerous was occurring. She heard distant footsteps thudding over the alarms, but knew they'd never get there in time.

There was only one possibility, one that she couldn't allow her panicking mind to avoid. Not now, not with her loyalty so tested and questioned already. She would have to be the one to help him. It could only be her.

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her body from trembling too hard. She gripped her hands into fists, and felt flames of her own creeping slowly up her spine, hotter than the ones below and, potentially, far more destructive. It was the feeling she had been pushing down for a few weeks now, as she had told Kurt. Her body was flame now, not just her hands, and it made her ache with something other than physical pain. It was the ache of realization.

As the flames below grew stronger, Nat let the flames engulf her body, forming a virtual shield about her flesh, and she dragged herself onto the windowsill. Her feet dangled just a meter or so from the colossal throng of heat and light, barefoot and seemingly insignificant. Her clothes had begun to burn, but she ignored them and concentrated on the display of the fire.

It was an incredible sight to behold, to see her thin white legs looking powerful in their blazing encasement, and somehow pathetic in comparison to the bizarre, spitting beauty of the fire. She allowed herself a moment to relish in the heat, a startling and familiar feeling of outlandish comfort overcoming her.

Nat slid forward so the flames were directly below her, crackling with their bright orange laughter like a language of their own, and the only brace remaining was her tailbone on the sill. She grabbed the curtain for leverage, but let go quickly with a muttered curse when the fabric naturally lit up in flame, and half-heartedly let herself fall downward into the leviathan flame-beast below.

With a painful crack, she came to an abrupt halt on her feet, but stumbled slightly from the momentum of the fall and nearly landed on her face. Her mind strangely clear, she glanced around for her next course of action, and caught sight of the open window not far away. She waded through the flame to reach it, as it licked at her legs, confused at the lack of damage. It seemed oddly pleasant, now that she was within it, and not nearly as forbidding as it had previously seemed. The only fear that lingered now was not the fire in the room or even the fire within her own flesh, but the location and condition of the professor. His mental calls had fallen silent for a minute or two now, and worry weighed heavily on her wits.

Had she been a normal human, her eyelashes would have burned away, and her eyeballs would have been dried and useless. Had she been a normal human, her lungs would have throbbed from lack of oxygen and her skin would have blistered away from her flesh. Then again, had she been a normal human, she would never have gotten that far.

But Nat Fairbanks was not a normal human, and for once in her life she was distinctly glad. She hoisted herself onto the windowsill of the professor's study and flopped into the room, sprawling gracelessly across the flaming seat of the bay window. The room was smoky and hot, filled with living flames, and she cast her eyes from one side to another in a desperate attempt to locate her telepathic teacher. The desk had been swallowed by fire, and the bookshelves had littered their charges to the floor in flaming, fluttering piles with flaming pigeon wings.

Without Xavier's gentle coaxing, she had no way to know where he was, but Nat could see in the flame and smoke better than most others could. Still, the darkness and heaviness of the room was oppressive, making it quite difficult to make her way through without stumbling.

Then, she caught sight of him. It was brief through the wall of fire, so brief in fact that she thought for a moment that she had imagined it. Then, she saw it again. Xavier had fallen from his wheelchair, or perhaps gotten out on his own to avoid the smoke, but he hadn't gotten far even with his powerful upper body strength. He was slumped across the floor, his arms stretched out in front of him with the hands like talons, his legs tangled and useless behind him. His smooth white brow was furrowed and beaded with sweat. Streaks of soot had dirtied his clothes and skin, and the edges of his clothing were singed. Not far away, his wheelchair had been consumed by the fire.

Nat's heart leapt into her throat, threatening to choke her of life and consciousness, but she scuttled to his side. She tried to concentrate on retracting her flames back into her body so she could lift the professor or try to drag him away from the mess, but her heart was pounding too hard and her mind was racing too fast. The flames continued to spurt in through the window and from her own skin, and there was no way to touch the professor without burning him. Her own clothing had burned away, but her body glowed a bright, pearly, unnatural white inside the flame, essentially covering her nakedness in a peculiar luminescence. Any embarrassment she might normally have felt was far in the recesses of her mind at the moment, virtually impossible to reach.

So, she concentrated. The only thing she could do was _think_, to imagine herself without the flame, standing cool and naked in the room. True, it wasn't something she _normally_ imagined, but it was the only way she could think of to coax her body back into a more traditional state. Well, maybe not "traditional"…but not on fire, either.

It didn't seem to be working. She was still flaming and brimming with heat, unable to come too close to the professor's disturbingly lax form out of fear that she might accidentally burn him. Outside in the hallway, she could hear her teammates coming to the aid of the professor, and relief flooded through her as much as if water had begun to flow from the flames.

The door flung open with immense, bone-rattling force, clattering against the jamb. Scott and Jean stood in the doorway, dressed as civilians but looking as heroic and savior-like as ever, even without their uniforms. There feet were at battle-stance, and Nat felt herself flood with confusion. Jean's jaw was set, her pretty face screwed into a pretzel of concentration and concern. Beside her, Scott looked as calm and collected as usual, but his eyes, behind the ruby-quartz lenses, flashed with unease and barely contained fury. His mentor was trapped somewhere in this room, and he didn't know for sure who was to blame. As his gaze raked the room, he caught sight of Nat, blazing ferociously, standing a mere meter from the unconscious and battered-looking Xavier.

A coldness dredged itself up from the bottom of Nat's awareness when she saw the expression on Scott's face change from mostly concern to mostly fury. He glared at her for a moment, as if he were unsure of what he should do, then turned his attention to Xavier. He came forward quickly and both he and Nat gasped in surprise as a vivid orange ball of flame erupted at his feet, sending him spiraling backward for a moment. He whirled back, and she staggered slightly as a burst of energy from Scott's immensely powerful eye sockets landed not far away, jolting her off of her feet and making the floorboards groan in protest.

Nat tried to clear her thoughts, painfully aware that she had been the unintentional architect of that fireball, and Jean frowned at her, angry and confused. Scott, on the other hand, changed tactics, and charged forward again, this time for Xavier. Evan, who had just arrived to see what was happening, caught a glimpse of Xavier's limp body and Nat's ragingly burning one, and took off down the hall to phone an ambulance.

One of Scott's booted feet swung toward Nat's midsection and barely missed, and she stumbled to her knees as Scott arrived at the professor's side, coughing and choking on the thick fumes. He stomped out his burning pant leg and stooped, grasping the older man beneath the armpits and hauling him into the corridor where the smoke was thinner. Nat stared at Jean, who was watching her intently, and Nat mentally shivered when she felt the gentle touch of Jean's mind at the edges of her own. Jean frowned slightly and turned to Scott, who was kneeling on the floor with the professor's unconscious head across his knees, and Nat heard the traces of conversation over the roaring of the fire that continued to burn.

"—can't seem to get in—new barriers that weren't there before—something very different—"

She strained to hear, trying to stand back as she feared that she would either burn them or she might face another onslaught of Scott's potentially dangerous optic bursts if she came too close. Rogue was not far away, and almost rushed in after Nat before Jean tossed her arm across the younger girl's chest to halt her. Kitty had arrived and was kneeling beside Scott, who was desperately trying to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to their unconscious teacher, but apparently without much luck.

In the corridor, a familiar pair of wide yellow eyes made Nat's heart nearly fracture in her chest.

Kurt stood at the far end of the hallway, apparently unable to come any closer, lest he break apart like so many shards of shattered glass. Their expressions met, and she tried to compose herself, feeling the raging flames that encircled her body calm into more of a dim glow. He watched her closely, as she did him, with a small crease in his indigo brow and eyes narrowed in confusion. His lips moved, forming a word or words that she couldn't make out.

Rogue stepped up beside him, and Nat heard her say, "You're little girlfriend mighta just killed the prof, Elfy."

Kurt scowled, shoved Rogue slightly backward, but the glance he gave to Nat wasn't encouraging either as he stalked toward her, bypassing Jean with an acrobatic bend of his lean body. But as he approached, his face flashed with anger.

Something twisted inside of Nat, a strong, wrenching something that ached in her head and in her flesh. Could he possibly believe it? Did he believe what the situation seemed to so eagerly prove? The world seemed to rotate faster than before, a churning accumulation of perplexity and misunderstood verities massing in the air. The ground was ready to swallow her up and spit her bones back on the charred soil of the earth, silent and unable to defend herself.

She heard her own voice, strangled and terrified, scream out, "No!" Her hands curled into claws.

And she turned on her heels, vaulting through the window and hurtling toward the woodland that edged the property, where she could run without being seen.

Nat was on the run again.


	33. Mister Crystal Ball

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"So now I run. / So now I hide.

From all the pain / And past inside."

-_Jamie Thomas Durbin_

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**Chapter Thirty-Three: Mister Crystal Ball**

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There is little in the universe more heartbreaking than losing someone that you love. Standing on the front porch of the Xavier institute, better known as "home" to the teenaged mutants that lived and trained there, Kurt Wagner met the staggering hardship of facing that kind of misfortune twofold. His body felt numb, his mind a chaotic muddle.

As the white-shirted paramedics strapped Charles Xavier's unconscious body onto a gurney and loaded him gently but rapidly into the back of the ambulance, Kurt felt his throat constrict, threatening to release a sob. The older X-Men had recently returned to the mansion, but they were turned away from the ambulance just as the students had been, leaving Wolverine fuming more out of fear than anger. Behind him, Jean was crying softly into Scott's chest, and Evan looked as if he were on the verge as well. Like Kurt, the rest of the X-Men looked too stunned to do much more than stare, blank-faced and stony-eyed.

When Nat had fled on foot into the wooded area alongside the Xavier property, he had set out almost immediately to chase her, but was held back by Jean. He could have teleported and simply cut off the fleeing quasi-X-Man in mid escape, but he wasn't positive of exactly where she was, and the team needed him nearby to help them with the professor. He had seen the desire to follow her lingering in Scott's eyes as well, but in a different capacity. Scott, like most of the others, wanted nothing more than to catch up with Nat so they could ask her some questions about what had happened, if not slap a few answers out of her.

Kurt swallowed hard, trying not to break down in the tears that were so eager to escape. That was the problem with being the resident joker and comedian: it's hard to let people know how down you really are. When someone actually _is_ blue, it's harder for them to come right out and say it without getting a few snickers, he guessed.

Of course, no one would have blamed him if he had lost a bit of his emotional "control". He did it all the time, really, just through more…light-hearted manners than crying. No one would have given it a second thought if he'd shed a few tears. Tensions ran high in a household that had so recently been ravaged by such a terrible event, and it wouldn't seem out of place in the slightest. Still, he clung to his optimistic façade as he always did. This time, he just didn't crack any jokes.

The side of the mansion that had been devastated by the fire was cordoned off by the police department, but smoke still rose in weak, spiraling loops into the inky night sky. The smell of burned wood, charred brick and ruined books and furniture was thick, and the metallic tang of destroyed computer equipment could be tasted on the breeze. Several square meters of grass and gardens had been blackened and ruined as if they'd been invited to the world's cruelest barbeque, and he felt a trace of pity for Storm and all the hard work she had spent keeping the plant life blooming on the grounds.

Logan and Ororo had arrived back at the mansion shortly after the authorities were contacted, and both had leaped back into the roles of caregivers, just as they were supposed to do. Much to Kurt's chagrin, Wolverine had noted after doing a bit of investigation of his own that there were no scents at the scene besides those of the X-Men themselves. No one bothered to mention that if there _had_ been, they had been well snuffed out by the heat of the blaze and the fumes of smoke.

Squeezing his hands into tight blue fists, Kurt leaned on one of the white marble columns on the porch and tried to breathe deeply of the cool, nighttime air. It was flavored with what seemed like charcoal, like a fourth of July gone wrong, and he tried to imagine it differently. Just yesterday, he'd known nothing of Nat's secrets, and the air had smelled fresh and sweet. Now, after just a few hours passed and a few secrets were revealed, the outside world was so different that he tried not to focus on how different he felt on the _inside_.

Slowly, the X-Men were beginning to head back inside to the functioning majority of the mansion. He heard Evan sniffling, trying not to seem fragile and scared. Rogue, with a single gloved hand, brushed her fingers lightly against Kurt's forearm.

"You okay, Kurt?" she asked, her voice soft with concern. In the foyer, Kurt caught sight of Kitty watching him sadly as the front door slipped shut.

"I…vell…_nein_, Rogue. I don't think so," he returned. He failed to meet her gaze directly.

"D'you wanna…" she trailed off and scratched a blotch of reddish poison ivy rash on the back of her arm, looking troubled. "Ah dunno, talk about it or somethin'?"

He sighed and slid his back down the pillar until he was seated on the porch, turning back out to the yard. Pausing a moment as if she were afraid to seem pushy, Rogue did the same, coming to a seated position beside him. In the distance, Kurt could see the wrought iron gates at the front end of the property and the quiet suburban street beyond, but he couldn't see houses. There were trees that lined the distant sidewalk, and tall, faintly glowing streetlamps that would have flickered with candlelight years ago, but now hummed weakly with the buzz of electricity.

"I'm not really sure vat there is to talk about."

"Well…didja hear how they think the professor is doin'?"

He shook his head, looking weary as he gazed out once again toward the empty woodland.

"Oh." She frowned a little, doubting the wisdom of her choice of conversational topic. "He ain't too good. Comatose, or somethin'. But they think he should pull through, once they get him t' the hospital an' all."

"I hope so."

"Yeah. Me too." There was a long moment of silence, neither entirely sure of what to say, and neither particularly uncomfortable with the silence. Rogue looked suddenly sheepish. "Ya know…ya don't need her. Better off without her, really. Anyway, she ain't gonna get away. Not once Logan sets out lookin' for her in the mornin'." She smiled faintly, remembering an earlier confrontation between Wolverine and their young teammate. "He wanted to go out huntin' tonight, but Jean convinced him to wait until there's light so she could come along t' get a better look into Nat's head. Actually, she sorta _made_ him, not _convinced_ him, but whatever."

Her smile faded when she realized that Kurt had turned around to face her, and was all but glaring in her direction. His voice quavered when he spoke. "_You_ think she did it, too? Like everyone else does?"

Rogue's eyebrows lowered in confusion and she shrugged uneasily. "After all that happened? Why? Don't _you_?"

Uttering a disgusted little groan, Kurt's head fell into his hands and his shoulders tensed as he tried not to sob. "I just don't know anymore!" And with that, he vanished in a violet tuft of smoke.

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Her bare feet stung as she clambered over tree trunks and snarls of root underfoot, occasionally snaring her skin piercingly on a tangle of blackberry branch or a cluster of nettles. Above, the sky was dark blue-black and dotted here and there with stars, and there wasn't a single cloud to obscure the plump yellow moon. Tears stained her cheeks, but she tried hard not to cry. After all, she'd need her breath for running if they sent someone out after her. The police might be coming, not to mention her former teammate with the bionic nose.

She wasn't sure what to think of the fact that no one had tried to directly pursue her when she fled from the mansion. In her head, this meant that there were three possibilities: one, the professor was too badly injured to waste time and energy in catching up with a useless runaway colleague; two, they were afraid of the possibility of her harming them as she had apparently done to Xavier; and three, they were biding their time.

None of the scenarios seemed all that comforting.

Nat sighed loudly, using one hand to hold her hair as she ran to keep it from sticking to her face or obscuring her vision. Crickets chirped alongside her, but she ignored their hushed violin-like music and kept her eyes on the path ahead. Her vision had adjusted to the darkness fairly easily, which was lucky considering the fact that she refused to light herself a torch, even a tiny, match-sized one, out of fear that her biologically induced lantern might be spotted by a pursuer.

From time to time, she would stop to catch her breath behind a tree. The air was getting colder as midnight approached, despite the summer heat of the day, and she was becoming painfully aware of her nudity. White skin glowed blue in the dim moonlight. The worst part was that there was no way to solve it, at least not one that she could think of: naked teenagers are pretty easy to spot in just about any landscape, even in the dark of night. She might have to break in somewhere and steal something to wear, considering it would be just about virtually impossible to walk into a shopping mall _without_ pants to _buy_ pants. Besides, where would she be keeping any money?

The thought choked a strangled laugh out of her.

Half-laughing, half-crying, Nat stumbled over to a nearby rock and plopped down on top of it, burying her face in her hands. The absurdity of the entire situation was almost enough to drive one mad, and Nat wasn't feeling too far away from the possibility of lunacy. Bizarre, that's all it was.

"Where _would_ I be keeping money?" she asked herself out loud, dissolving into laughter again. She let her body fall backward onto the rock, feeling the chilled surface against her pale skin, her hair spreading like a dark fan behind her.

"Well, I don't know why _you_ haven't thought of it, but _I_ could offer a solution to that question," came a voice behind her.

Uttering a terrified shriek, Nat leapt to her feet and tried to scramble away, covering herself frantically with her hands. Not more than a few meters away, she could see a narrow male shape silhouetted against the trees, his fair skin and hair glowing as her own was, both angelically and frighteningly in the watery, filtered light cast by the moon. He stepped a bit closer, so his face was bathed in moonlight in a clearing, and she felt herself hiss quietly, like an aggravated cat.

"What the hell do _you_ want, Maximoff?" She fought the urge to point at him accusingly, and reminded herself that her hands needed to remain right where they were.

"I don't know. But I'm guessing _you_ might want some underwear."

"Just shut up and stop ogling me, you revolting bastard!' Nat bellowed, shaking with rage as she ducked behind a tree to shield herself.

Pietro chuckled, his eyes going wide, and he shook a finger as if to denounce her. "My, my, my! Aren't we snippy on this lovely evening." he said. He laughed again, but covered his eyes with his hand, which was wrapped in tiny bandages as if he'd been playing in a tank of piranhas, and tossed something in her general direction. "Put that on."

Nat caught the bundle, which was actually a button-down men's shirt he had kept stashed in the back of the truck. She glared at it, glancing back and forth between the shirt and Pietro, who had his eyes still covered by his hand. She internally debated her options. She could stay naked just to spite him, going for the insult of refusing to accept any offerings. Then again, he might not be too upset about having to look at her _naked_, either.

Harrumphing, she pulled the shirt on over her head, keeping her eyes firmly on Pietro from around the tree trunk to make sure that he didn't try to sneak a peek. The shirt fell at mid-thigh, and she would normally have felt ridiculously bare in it, but after an hour of racing around outside in her birthday suit, it felt as protective as being stuffed into a seventeenth century Puritan's dress, headwear and all.

"Now, you be a _good_ little girly mutant and I'll give you a nice pair of pantsie-wantsies," Pietro chortled, opening his eyes with a triumphant grin.

Nat stared at him, her expression inert. "You are such a prick."

He shrugged, handing her a pair of black sweatpants and some dirty flip-flops as he dropped onto a nearby tree stump, propping himself up on his elbows. "I wouldn't be tossing insults at the only person you can truly call your friend at the moment."

Clumsily trying to dress herself in the clothes he'd handed to her without having to bend into any unseemly and revealing positions, she glared up at him as she continued. "I never considered you my friend. And I don't intend to start now."

"You might want to rethink that."

"And just why is that?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She felt significantly more rebellious now that she wasn't standing before him buck naked.

"I know how easy it was for your little X-Pals to toss you out on your ass. You think they gave it a whole minute or two of thought, or was it nice and instantaneous-like?"

Before she could stop herself, her palm shot forward and almost connected with his jaw before he caught her wrist in midair and squeezed it lightly. Tears began to push past her eyelids, and he dropped her hand quickly, looking awkward, and wincing slightly when his hand retracted in pain.

"Aw, come on…I didn't squeeze your arm _that_ hard."

Suppressing a sob, she whirled around and stumbled a few feet away from him, but stopped not far away when she realized that she couldn't see through the tears in her eyes. "Shut up, just shut up! Don't you ever _learn_?"

There was a long pause, and when she managed to blink back her tears enough to see him clearly his expression was one of embarrassment. He slid his bandaged hands into his pockets and leaned against a tree trunk, not quite meeting her gaze. "I'm…just tryin' to help you, you know."

"Oh, of course you are!" she cried, flinging her hands into the air.

"Don't take it so personally, Fairbanks! I was just teasin' you."

She blinked hard, sticking out her jaw. "Well in case you haven't noticed, I'm not up to it! And I'm not up to dealing with _you_ at all!"

He glared suddenly. "That's fine. Just fucking fine! You go right ahead and keep on runnin' as long as you want to, and wait for the cops or the F.O.H. or your damn _friend_ Wolverine to catch up with you, and wait and see how much you want my help then." He grasped her by the hand again, and before she could pull away he handed her a slip of paper, folding her fingers around it. He paused, and his voice quieted when he took several deep, calming breaths. "Now, you can come with me to my truck, and from there you can pick what you wanna do," he added, as if he had just thought of it.

Nat stood there, silent and stunned, staring at the paper in her palm. An address and phone number were messily scrawled upon it in dark red ink. 

"You comin'?" Pietro asked over his shoulder, walking toward a clearing where his truck was apparently parked.

Nat hesitated. "D-do I have to…stay with you?"

He screwed up his face and shrugged. "I'll drive you a distance so you can get a head start on the guys that are gonna be following, but I ain't gonna make you stay with me. You can find me at that address, when you want me. The way I figure it, you're gonna come crawling back soon enough, anyway, so there isn't a point in forcing you."

Nat clapped her hands together in sarcastic glee. "Oh, am I? Am I _really_? Oh boy, it sure is gee-golly-God-damn _wonderful_ to know that, Mister Crystal Ball," she added sharply, scowling.

He rolled his eyes. "Just get in the truck."


	34. Philosophies of the Beaded Beard

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**Chapter Thirty-Four: Philosophies of the Beaded Beard**

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Eric Lensherr leaned back slowly in his seat, surveying the eager face of his adolescent charge. The boy looked slightly uncomfortable, but pleased as well, wearing a bold expression that reminded Lensherr of his own, before the world had taught him that eagerness must be submitted to the rule of necessity. Each stared back at the other for a moment, two white-haired mutants with defiant gleams in their eyes.

It was an intimidating scene. The large, elegant room was upholstered in dark fabrics, with high walls draped here and there with heavy tapestries. Two of the world's deadliest mutant discussed local politics with his closest young acolyte. Despite the summer warmth outside, a fire burned on the hearth to sap some of the chill from the conditioned air of the cavernous, stone-walled room.

"You let her _go_?" Magneto spat, teeth-clenched. The iron pokers beside the fireplace rattled menacingly in their holder.

Pietro swallowed hard and twined his fingers together nervously in his lap. "I let her off not far from the interstate, with a little money and a pair of pants—" at this, Magneto eyed him strangely "—but not enough to live on for long." Pietro shrugged his slim shoulders defensively. "She needs the comfort of knowing that joining the Brotherhood was ultimately _her_ decision, not mine. I made sure to give her a way to contact me if she decides to join us. _When_ she decides to join us, that is." He gave a little half-smile.

"Your confidence in this matter is both encouraging and distressing, Pietro," Lensherr sputtered as he rose to his feet, stretching his spine on the way to the fireplace. His hand lingered for a moment on the mantle, among the ancient mementos, the faded monochrome faces that Pietro almost recognized gazing out from thick gold frames. It was strange to see what was probably _family_ to Lensherr; few people ever entered these private rooms, and few ever saw these oddly humanizing touches of Magneto's "normal" life. The older man's gaze fell on a photograph that Pietro was examining, a frame that held a blurry picture of an ivory-haired man with two infant children in his arms. Pietro's eyes narrowed.

Magneto slammed his hand down, smothering the photographed people against the wood of the mantle. His eyes flashed in Pietro's direction, and the boy glanced away sheepishly. Magneto continued, unperturbed by Pietro's stare but still unhappy about the situation at hand. Spittle clung to his lip, and his eyes flashed angrily. "Your little plan may still backfire. You can't simply assume that she'll join us. Not without the proper incentive."

The younger man's lips twisted into a harsh smile, confident and rather grating. "I've already provided that incentive, sir. She's got very little reason to return to that mansion now that her _friends_ are beginning to doubt the reliability of her devotion."

"And you had better be correct about this, Quicksilver. If Irene's visions hold true, and they always have, that little _girl_ is potentially the most powerful mutant we've ever dealt with, save Xavier and myself. From what I can see, an old scrap of parchment I picked up years ago, and its 'silly prophecies' as Mystique once called them, may pay off with immense profits for us. For all of mutantkind, really. Fairbanks' destructive capabilities alone open the opportunity..." He trailed off, an odd expression floating over his face.

Pietro felt his throat go suddenly, painfully dry, but he remained silent and essentially stoic.

"Speaking of destruction—" Lensherr paused for effect, glowering in Pietro's direction "—I hear that you've had a bit of recent _experience_ in the area."

"You…uh…heard, then?"

"It's common knowledge, my boy. It would be hard to watch the neighborhood newscast without seeing a report about the fiery incident at the good professor's home," he added, glowering. He smiled faintly, an unpleasant, unfriendly expression. "You've placed yourself in a bit of a jam, it would seem."

Cheeks inexplicably burning, Pietro glanced away. "Xavier…he's…"

"Comatose. Yes, I've heard. I keep myself fairly well updated on the situation regarding Xavier and his mutants," Lensherr went on. He cracked his knuckles and sat down again across from Pietro. On the other side of the room, a metal urn on a shelf trembled and toppled to the floor with a clatter, ignored. A blunt pain was forming in Pietro's temple, and he found himself wondering, with a jolt of dull fear, if Magneto was toying with the metallic elements in his blood. "You had better hope that he recovers. And that his former student comes stumbling back _our_ way rather than _his_ before he can recuperate and use Cerebro to locate her."

Pietro sighed, the pain in his head tightening briefly before it vanished suddenly. "Yes, sir."

Lensherr rose to his feet and strode from the room as if it were empty, leaving Pietro alone and uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat with a nervous grunting sound. Despite his self-assured ravings, he _was_ worried. With every good thing that happened lately, there seemed to be some inevitable bad thing along for the ride. He was pretty sure that he had Nat where he wanted her, just starting to lean toward his advancements, but Xavier was another matter, and totally out of his control. The professor had been taken to the hospital and was undoubtedly undergoing the best medical treatment and supervision that his virtually unlimited supply of money could buy. Nat, on the other hand, was pretty much helpless and homeless, trying to find her way away from those that wanted to nab her in a world that she couldn't yet handle. He knew her better than she was aware of: she'd come around and return as soon as she realized what she faced on the run. Whatever the professor's condition turned out to be, he'd still be able to deliver Nat to Magneto. And to Pietro himself, if things went as planned.

Things were bumpy, but he hadn't yet failed. Not completely. He could still be redeemed.

_In that case, I'll only loose _one_ leg rather than both_, he though, bearing more than a trace of mental bitterness. _Goody._

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Taking a deep breath, Nat slipped into the grocery store, trying not to meet anyone's gaze. Nat was back to that irrepressible feeling of paranoia again, and it seemed that every passerby was looking right at her, matching her face to one that might have been on the local news.

For the past twenty-four hours, she had avoided most public places until she felt that she was far enough out of town that she didn't have to worry about running into someone who might know her. Still, the fear that she might have made the papers or even the television lingered on. She didn't know that although the professor's story was all over the area already, thanks to some talkative members of the fire department who hadn't had the luxury of having their minds wiped of the memory now that Xavier was out of play, Nat Fairbanks herself had been pretty much eliminated from conversation. No one knew, except the X-Men and probably the Brotherhood, that a suspected arsonist was on the loose not more than a day outside of Bayville. The fire department had chalked up the incident to a cigarette thrown from Nat's bedroom window onto the rose bushes below. Even the angered young X-Men knew it was a bad idea to inform the world that they harbored a girl who could summon flames from her own flesh.

Nat left the grocery again, her pockets a little lighter, an apple and a day-old roll from the bakery in hand. She tried to ration them, to make them last at least until midday or the following morning, but her self-control had worn thin when she remembered that she hadn't eaten since long before she left the institute.

Eternally grateful for the oversized clothing given to her by Pietro, but still a little bitter about how he'd gone about giving it to her, Nat walked slowly to the riverfront and along the edge of the water. There were several others a distance away, all of them homeless or otherwise removed from the generally clean, suburban society. A young man, bearded and apparently strung out on something that made him twitch a lot, waved at her with a wink and nodded for her to come over to the upturned sofa upon which he and an equally-chemically-altered friend sat. She suppressed a nervous tickling in her stomach, reminding herself that she couldn't be judgmental about people who were now just like her, but shook her head and walked quickly away. After all, there was a fine line between being open-minded and just plain stupid.

The river, a slow-running, muddy old thing, looked calm tonight, and sparkled when the light from the moon and the streetlamps caught its peaks and curves just right. Nat sat on a park bench, shivering a bit in her bones, and wrapped her arms around her body. She ran her finger along a crude drawing carved into the wood of the bench, trying not to think about what she was running from.

It was hard. The river looked like the lake had, that night that Kurt followed her to the water's edge, and held her in arms so warm she imagined now that they must have been mere fantasy. The thought brought tears to her eyes, and made her disregard the apple that she hadn't yet finished. It fell to the ground and rolled away, forgotten.

"Whatcha cryin' about, little 'un?"

The voice was soft and gentle. Nonetheless, she leapt to her feet and scrambled away, terrified. She stumbled a bit, falling onto her rear as she tried frantically to squirm back into a standing position. The speaker frowned at her, looking surprised and faintly amused. It was the boy that had been sitting on the old couch, the one who had waved to her a few minutes earlier.

Up close, she could tell that he was younger than she had originally thought, perhaps only twenty or even as young as herself, although the facial hair made him look much older. He was dressed in ratty clothes and several brightly colored beads had been woven into his beard, making him look almost comical and circus-like. His jeans were threadbare, and his shirt was dirty and far too large, so the bones that stuck out from his skin looked skeletal even through his clothes. The only thing he wore that looked like he cared much about was a leather jacket, studded and patched. She could imagine him a few years earlier: at age fifteen, he'd wanted nothing more than that jacket and he'd saved and saved for months just to get hold of it. She imagined that it was the only thing left that really mattered to him, his one last tie to the world he'd left behind when his recreational partying had gotten a little more intense than he had intended, and he'd taken to the streets.

Either that or he stole it.

Now, he stood over her, looking faintly amused. Slowly, with exaggerated care and his eyes held intentionally wide and puppy-like in an attempt to make her laugh, he reached out a hand to help her to her feet. Nat hesitated for a moment, but took his hand and let him hoist her up.

"Nobody's reacted like _that_ when they saw me, before you," he said with a crooked smile, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He twitched, as if his eye and lip wanted to meet one another.

"S-sorry…" Nat trailed off. "I, uh, haven't…gotten to know the area yet. And…well…you know."

He nodded, making a little snorting noise through his nose, but his face was steady and solemn. "Yeah, probably best not to talk to many people around here at night. Lotsa crazies."

She smiled, and tried her luck with conversation. He seemed reasonably friendly. And, at the moment, friendly and crazy was more appealing that not friendly at all. "Is that a warning or an introduction?"

He laughed, opening his mouth and tossing his head back. He had several missing and rotten teeth and his lips were thin and white. He virtually towered over her by at least a foot, but his emaciated build told her that he probably weighed less than she did. "Take it however ya want, I guess." He stuck out his hand again, offering her something in a little foil wrapper. "Want a cig?"

The urge was almost unbearable, and Nat was shocked when she agreed and started to reach forward. Something inside her, she wasn't sure what or why, delighted in the thought of inhaling smoke, any smoke. The fire was hungry. Feeling slightly ill at the thought, she shook her head silently, dropping her hand back to her side.

He nodded, as if answering a question that neither of them had really heard out loud.

"What's yer name?"

"Um…Nat Fairbanks. You?"

"Dominic Rainbow O'Donahue. My mom was probably stoned or somethin', the way I guess it. Either that, or just bein' mean." He perched a cigarette between his lips, lighting it with a match that he lit by flicking it against his thumbnail. He inhaled the smoke, and Nat caught herself trying to drink it in, embarrassed. "So, kid—er, _Nat_—why _were_ you cryin'? Missin' somebody? Must be somebody pretty important to make ya feel so bad."

Nat shivered and wiped at her face with her hands, trying to blot out tears that were no longer there. She squelched the idea that he had _known_ that, figuring he'd simply guessed. "Just…thinking, I guess."

"'Bout somebody ya love a lot, huh?"

She frowned, still rubbing at her eyes with her fingertips. "How'd you know?"

He grinned, again showing the black spaces in his gaping gums, and raised his hands to the sky. "It's a gift, ya might say. Or maybe not. Can't tell yet."

Nat blinked, not quite sure of what she'd just heard. "A gift, huh?" She walked slowly alongside him as he started to stroll along the water, unconsciously imitating him. He thrust his hands in his pocket and walked with long, swinging strides. "What…kind of gift?"

"The best kind. And the worst kind, a lotta the time."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you ever stop speaking in riddles? Or do I have to figure out your mysterious clues before you give me the key to open the mermaid's treasure chest?"

He laughed again, that snorty, toothless sound that was somehow comforting when compared to the silence of the night before he'd approached. "I try not to talk too much 'bout it, unless people ask."

"Well, I'm askin' aren't I?"

Dominic grinned. "Ya sure are, English Muffin." She stuck out her tongue and made a gagging motion, and he laughed. "I got…some talents that…well, most people ain't got. That's all." He twitched again, his shoulders jerking epileptically.

"You mean, you're a mutant?"

He stared at her for a moment, looking stunned. "You just jump right in an' say it, don't ya?"

"When I really want to know something, yeah. So? Are you?"

There was a long silence, and Nat began to fear that perhaps she had asked too much from this stranger. Then, he nodded slowly, his violet-tinged eyes wide. "Yeah."

They had come to another bench, this one more graffiti-strewn than the first, and sat beside one another. They were silent for a long while, neither of them willing, or even eager, to break the stillness. Nat's voice shattered the air like a baseball striking a window, and Dominic flinched beside her. "Is that why you're out here?"

He didn't respond. She turned to glance at him, and saw him staring down at his dirty fingernails. "Yeah, I guess."

Emboldened, perhaps by something this young telepath was mentally doing to her, Nat went on. "Is that…you know, is that what makes you twitch like that?"

"Yeah. Well, that—" he grinned hugely "— and the meth."

Nat screwed up her face. "That's not funny."

"I know. But, hell, ya gotta try." He smiled and took a long draft of smoke, breathing out a little smoke ring.

"I guess so."

He sighed, folding his long legs beneath him on the bench. "So. Who were ya cryin' 'bout back there?"

Nat felt her throat constrict, threatening to make her start to sob. Dominic seemed to notice and waited in silence for her to respond. "A, uh, good friend of mine. Somebody I don't think I'll be seeing again. At least not any time soon."

"Well, that sucks."

She took a deep breath, and smelled the river water and the scent of burning tobacco. "Yeah. It really does."

"You ain't gonna see him anymore 'cause…'cause you've got a gift like mine, too?" Dominic pushed, smiling faintly. His eyes were mostly shut, and the ember of his cigarette was going out as the strip of tobacco ended, but it bobbed like an orange, flaming insect in front of his face as it began to fade.

"No. I mean, yeah, I've got one…a 'gift' like yours. Not just like yours—aw, never mind, you get the idea. But he, the guy, he doesn't care about that. He's got a gift, too."

"Lucky you. When my girlfriend found out _I _was a mutie, she shot me."

Nat's eyes went wide. "You're kidding."

"Nah. Little skank got me right in the back of the leg with her daddy's thirty-eight. Hurt like a son of a bitch."

They fell silent again, and Nat felt the familiar creeping of a telepath lurking around the edges of her consciousness. She tried not to react, and sat there quietly, letting him prowl about a little. When the mental strand pulled back suddenly, he nodded to that soundless voice again, and his left leg spasmed slightly. He watched her profile, and she pretended that she didn't notice, but when he pulled out another cigarette he nearly jumped to his feet when it seemed to light itself. A grin spread across his face, and he patted her shoulder lightly, making her smile.

"Ya know," he paused in thought, rubbing the back of his head with the empty cigarette package before he went on. "Sometimes we can't always tell who the bad guys are."

Nat spun to face him, staring intently. "What's _that_ mean?"

"I dunno. Just…well, maybe you oughtta think things through a bit before ya keep on runnin' every which way. It ain't a real great life, I can tell you real honestly."

"Yeah, well, if you know so much about me and how I ought to live, maybe _you_ should give _me_ a few tips."

He ground the cigarette butt into the wood of the bench and tossed the lifeless stump of filter fiber into the grass. "Just think about things. You've got a few options, which is more than I had. And I wouldn't give up on either of 'em, if I was you." He was quiet for a minute, watching her. "You have a choice to make, and you shouldn't pass up any opportunities, that's all. Even the ones that sorta scare you."

Nat hung her head, watching her hands rub together in her lap as if she weren't the one controlling them. A crick was forming in the back of her neck and running down her back, but she didn't move for a long time. Then, she looked up to say something, waiting for Dominic's next pearl of incomprehensible wisdom.

The boy and his beaded beard were gone, vanishing into the darkness along the riverside.


	35. Manipulation

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**Chapter Thirty-Five: Manipulation**

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Dominic O'Donahue walked slowly, letting his feet drag heavily behind him, and took a deep, wavering breath. He filled his lungs greedily, urgently, as if he feared that he were about to drown. Perhaps, in a way, he was. He just hoped that the poor kid he'd met remembered to breathe, too.

Guilt is not an enjoyable fixation to live with, as Dom knew all too well. Now, he'd found one more thing to add to his box of toys under the bed in his mind, one more thing to pretend didn't really exist. Of course, he hadn't done anything _wrong_, really…just a little reconnaissance mission. The kid hadn't been hurt, and as far as he knew, she never would be. These people didn't seem ready to destroy her, just…befriend her. To give her a place to stay and belong, now that her old friends had apparently given up on her.

There. So he'd done nothing wrong.

Not far off in the distance, he could make out the dark, lumpy shape of the overturned sofa where he'd set up camp for the night, and a humanoid figure that belonged to his friend Caleb. Rather, it was _supposed_ to belong to his friend Caleb. Tonight, it seemed that there had been some sort of mix up in the reality department, and nothing was really what it should be. Behind that, a stream of moonlight gleamed off of the glossy finish of a pricey, jade-colored sports car. It, like the body of the young man that was supposed to be Caleb, actually belonged to their uninvited visitor.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached. Now, he could see "Caleb's" face, sneering and annoyed, looking not at all like he normally did. The other young man got to his feet as his absent companion reappeared, bushy eyebrows knit together above the bridge of his nose. He folded his arms across his chest, and tapped one booted toe on the pavement. He looked altogether out of place, but didn't seem to mind it.

"So? Anything?"

Dom paused for a long moment, acting as if he were thinking about the question quite deeply. The person who wasn't-Caleb-but-also-was-Caleb looked impatient, so Dom hurried his thinking along. "Not much. I can say that she's interested in what you've got to offer, but I ain't too sure that she's doin' it 'cause she _wants_ to. I think she might just be scared."

There was a strange melting of light and color around "Caleb's" body, and Dom shivered uncontrollably as another person entirely came into view instead, the figure of his friend shed like a snake leaving its skin behind. Now, "Caleb" was replaced by a woman, imposing even without her lean turquoise body and a belt with the shape of a skull on the buckle. She might have been attractive, if she wasn't as freaky as hell. Her face was narrow and intense, with pale eyes giving the impression of great importance and peril. Dom shivered again.

"I don't very much give a damn what her reasons are, boy, as long as you did what you were instructed to do," she hissed, teeth held tightly together and flashing bright white. "Did you?"

He nodded, feeling his head go light. His conscience was furious, and he couldn't blame it. "Yes, ma'am."

Her thin lips curved into a smile at that, and Dom mentally kicked himself for the unconscious use of such a respectful term. Her imposing presence just seemed to pull it out of him, he reasoned. In the darkness, she looked a lot like his third grade teacher. _She was a bitch, too_, Dom thought solemnly to himself, and had to fight a laugh that threatened to surge forth.

The woman continued, unaware or uncaring of his discomfort. "So she's coming to us?"

A pain was forming between his eyes. A tension headache. He needed another smoke. "Yeah, as far as I could tell. But I ain't makin' promises here. I've got only a tiny bit of practice at makin' people do stuff. Usually I just snoop around a little, get what I need…you know, petty shit like that."

Her lip pulled back a bit into a tiny snarl. "I don't care how much _practice_ you've gotten. This is more important than that, and far more important than _you_. Your…manipulations had better have positive results. And by that, I mean that this had better turn out as I planned."

Dom was shaking now, his hands balled into fists. He could smell the sickly flowery scent of perfume on the air, and it made him rather queasy. What would the devil herself need with God damned _perfume_?

"Fine. Fine, whatever. Yeah, it's gonna work. Now, where the fuck is Caleb?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such naughty language from such a fine, upstanding young man." She chuckled, wrapping long, blue fingers around her hipbones as if they were handles. A light breeze played against her scarlet-hued hair. "I'll retrieve him. As soon as you can assure me that everything is going to turn out according to my plans."

"Damn it, I already _told_ you! I've done all I can! I can't force her to go to you if she's against it. All I can do is plant the seed in her mind. _She_ has to water it," he said, and smashed his fist against his other palm to emphasize his point. "I did what you asked, even if I can't entirely promise it will turn out the way you want it to. So, where's _Caleb_?"

He stalked up to her, his chest mere centimeters away from hers, but she didn't do so much as flinch. In fact, his nearness and impertinence seemed only to spur her on, and she gazed at him with an amused glint in her eye. She teased her fingers against her hip again, and raised her chin as if to goad him on. She opened her mouth to say something else, but thought better of it and reformatted her tactics.

"Very well. I suppose you've done all that you promised. Remain here."

The red-haired demon disappeared into the darkness, and Dom could hear the sound of high heels clattering against the ground, followed by that of a car door opening and slamming shut again. He strained his ears against the oppressive air, which seemed to only muffle what he wanted to hear. There was a muted thud, followed closely by the sound of terrified footsteps as her prisoner was released.

Damn. He'd been in the car all along.

Caleb swung around the corner, barreling headfirst into Dom's chest, his eyes wide with fear. He swung back, ready to plant a rigid fist in his would-be assailant's belly, but paused and seemed to deflate when he recognized Dom. His taller friend grabbed him by the elbows, staring into his face to inspect the bloodied nose and somber blue eyes, frozen in shock.

"What the hell's goin' on, man? Didja see that? _Didja_? That…that bitch turned into something else, man!" He ran a hand through his greasy hair, and Dom let out a breath of relief, nodding as Caleb rambled on. "I mean, _shit_. That was just messed up, man!"

"Yeah. Trust me, I know."

The screeching of tires against the pavement shattered the nighttime silence as the dark green vehicle peeled out and sped away from the scene, kicking up dust as it drove.

Still breathing a little hard, Caleb lowered himself slowly onto the couch as if the motion made his body ache, and the sofa groaned in protest with the grating of the internal fixtures and the popping of broken springs. Caleb wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Good thing we ain't got none of them muties around here, man. Don't think my poor heart could handle it." He grinned, merrily slapping his companion on the back.

Dom glanced at him and smiled faintly, his brow creased and his eyes pained, although Caleb didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, man. Good thing."

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The first thing she discerned when she awoke the following morning was that she felt decisively homesick. It donned on her that it might just be the hunger gnawing at her midsection or the stiffness in her neck from sleeping on a bench, but the idea passed quickly. No, it was definitely homesickness. She was lonely, and wanted someone to talk to.

Her stay at the institute had spoiled her, she knew that now. Before she met Moira, and before she agreed to come to the States, she'd had no real friends and no family that she cared to think much about. It had been easy, then, to wander around without companionship, to spend hours, days, even weeks without the sound of another human voice speaking her name. At times, she had felt that life at the institute was restricting, and too communal for her tastes, but now, without the constant stimulation of pointless discussion and argument and goofy name-calling between friends, she was lonesome.

One thing was sure: even if she didn't miss the people she had lived with, she certainly missed the luxury of being able to take a hot shower. Her feet were dirty with dust from her run, and her hair felt heavy and matted. She squirmed in disgust under a veil of grime.

Nat sighed and refastened her hair with a piece of fabric that she'd torn off the bottom of her borrowed shirt, brushing a few stray tendrils off of her temples and pretending that these loose curls had been what was what was causing the tickling in her eyes.

Luckily, she didn't feel too hungry anymore. Her stomach was empty but it had given up growling when it realized that doing so seemed to do very little good. Walking kept her from getting too bored, and made her feel like she was keeping some distance between herself and her possible pursuers, so she slipped her feet back into the outsized flip-flops and made her way back to the street. As long as no one noticed her, things seemed to be going pretty well for a teenaged runaway with more than one pressing issue on her mind.

The brief trip in Pietro's truck had eliminated or dulled her scent along the track, and the awareness of that made her feel a little better. Still, even if Logan couldn't track her with his nose, it was pretty unlikely that her pursuers, perhaps including the police, had given up so easily.

_Better figure out whether or not the authorities are looking for me_, she thought to herself, her stomach doing flips. She glanced around on the street corner for a metal newspaper dispenser, and found none in sight. With a sigh, she looked from side to side, seeking out a diner or a coffee shop that might have a paper to offer. There was a dentist's office, a travel agency, and several places with Korean names that she couldn't understand, but nothing that looked low-brow or empty enough that the customers and service were unlikely to watch the local news. Besides, everything was brightly lit and inviting, which wasn't what she wanted now that she was avoiding being seen.

A large neon sign just ahead, unlit in the morning sunlight, appeared to be just what she had been looking for. She pressed her forehead to the window and tried to look in through the tinted glass. There were only a few patrons inside.

Nat approached the pub cautiously, and came to its doors, which were plastered with signs turning minors away. Still, the need for information and fear that she would be spotted in a better-lit environment haunted her, and she slipped past the door and into a dusty smelling corridor that led into the bar.

There were a few pool tables with dark green felt that was splotched with alcohol stains along the back wall, and a jukebox with flashing lights along the top. Most of the tables were empty, with the exception of a few hardcore drinkers who would come in early in the day for a fix, and a few that looked like they too had nowhere else to go. A skinny Asian woman in a bright pink dress was sprawled across a table near the bathroom door. Nat lingered on the front steps, not sure of what to do, before slinking into the darkness and choosing a table far in the back, as dark and uninviting as possible. She grabbed a convenient and pretzel-strewn newspaper that someone had discarded on a nearby table, and settled down in a booth to read.

There wasn't much in the paper besides ads for local hardware stores and page after page of people trying to sell their old, worn out cars. She paused to read the funnies, laughing quietly to herself and feeling pleased with the momentary lapse it caused in her crying. She read about a robbery at a gas station about an hour away and about a group of elementary school students who were raising money to paint over graffiti at their public library. Most of the news was from outside of Bayville, and she found herself wondering if she could find a newspaper devoted only to that little suburb, when a small article caught her eye.

And made her heart compress against her ribs.

It looked like things were pretty bad back in Bayville.

The professor, called "New England's most elusive scholar and philanthropist", was still in the hospital, comatose. He had inhaled large amounts of smoke, but had somehow not been injured by the flames themselves, despite his inability to flee the room at the time of the fire. His condition was stable but not improving, although doctors still had hope that he would make a full recovery.

Nat's eyes blurred as she tried to make out the rest, and found no mention of a missing student or an arson suspect except for a small passage at the end which mentioned the slight possibility of foul play but didn't even mention her name. Apparently, even the authorities and been baffled over the cause of the blaze, and none of the others had been foolish enough to mention Nat's pyrokinetic abilities. There was a tedious but sharpening pain in her chest that made it impossible to celebrate even that small victory, and tears had begun to fall again. Her hands trembled, and there was a familiar tingling running up her spine that was instantly squelched.

No wonder Pietro had helped her get out of town so fast. Maybe he wouldn't have done so if things had looked better. He must have known that she was in even bigger trouble than she suspected.

God, why had she gotten out of the truck? Why had she gotten in anyway? She could have gone back with him, back to wherever the so-called "Brotherhood" lived, and made an all new start. There would be no more relationship with Kurt, but she figured that had already been pretty much ruined. Better to see him from time to time around town, facing him as an enemy when he and his friends already saw her that way anyway, than to never see him again. Right?

She'd thrown away her only chance, and now she had no where to go. Perhaps if she hadn't run away, she could have explained things to the X-Men, but something inside told her that the mental barriers Jean had spoken of were not just a temporary thing. The fire was no longer just a physical matter, one that could be put out with the right amount of water, this Nat somehow knew for sure.

The fire had moved to her mind, and it didn't seem to be going anywhere. When the flames moved out of her hands and through the rest of her body, engulfing her in something that she had spent years trying to fight, it had spread to her mind as well. It was as good as a psychic "No Trespassing" sign. Nothing could prove her innocence now that her mind was blocked from the only one who could have found the truth.

Nat was struck by a sick sense of déjà vu, one that had been lingering since that boy had disappeared the night before, taking his beaded beard and his cigarettes with him into the darkness. Her options were few and far between at the moment, and none of them seemed to be much better than the others.

Except for one.

Once again, she had been blamed for a horrendous crime. Although this time she'd had no part in the fire, this she hoped, she was also the only one who knew that. And once again, she was lonely in an unfamiliar town, with only a scrap of paper to lead her to a new home, and a new life if things went well. She remembered the newspaper clipping that had led her to Moira, and the first place where she had been truly happy. Now, she had the same choice to make: take a leap and go to a person that might be able to help her, return to a place where she would be seen as a criminal, or keep on running as fast as she could go.

Last time, the paper had led her in the right direction, at least until fate had steered her wrong again. But should she trust it _this_ time? Should she call the phone number across the top of the scrap that Pietro had given her, or head off toward the address that beckoned to her with its spirally red letters? Or just keep on going, with no set direction and a constant, persistent fear of being followed?

Hard, wracking sobs threatened to tear through her body, and a waitress in a lavender miniskirt looked up and rose from a booth on the other side of the bar, concerned. She approached slowly, and Nat tried to turn her face away, just in case someone came in looking for her later and asked for someone matching Nat's description. No need to get this woman involved, too, and no need to set herself up for a trap.

The waitress, middle-aged with thick gray hair twined into a large knot atop her head, sat down in the booth across from Nat and tapped one long, red-lacquered fingernail on the tabletop. She stared out from large brown eyes that were lined heavily with too much mascara, and pursed her lips together lightly. She had a smoker's lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

Nat sucked in a breath through her teeth, still trying not to make eye contact. "Yeah, I'm f-fine."

The woman smiled. "Well, you don't look too fine, if you don't mind me sayin'."

Nat rose to her feet too quickly, feeling slightly dizzy. She grabbed the newspaper, the unwanted pages scattering across the table, and tried to get away from the booth without the waitress seeing her face straight on. "I'm fine, thank you, but I really have to go now."

She moved quickly, knocking into several tables and making the contents fall to the ground on her way back to the door. A man with drink-slurred speech cursed at her retreating back, flinging something small and hard at her. It struck her in the back of the neck, making her vision go cockeyed for a moment, and she swung around to see an empty ashtray clatter to the floor.

Terrified and clutching the newspaper in her fist, Nat fled out the door and onto the sidewalk again, sunlight burning her eyes but warming her in an almost maternal embrace.

Tears poured more heavily, and she took off down the street in search of a payphone.


	36. Satans Little Playfield

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"Solitude is the playfield of Satan."

-_Vladimir Nabokov_

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**Chapter Thirty-Six: Satan's Little Playfield**

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Sometimes, there's nothing we can do to make things right. Other times, we get the idea into our heads that we can change the world, if only we try hard enough. Most of the time, however, it's just a combination of the two: a wealth of helplessness with just enough hope remaining to spur our efforts on. The percentage of each is all that changes the equation.

Scott Summers knew this equation well. He'd lived most of his late childhood living in a perpetual state of powerless optimism, waiting for his day in the sun to come. He'd lost his parents far earlier than most people have to, and had been separated from his only brother for years afterward, as both boys were "settled". Things had worked out alright for Alex, for the most part, but Scott had been the stereotypical unwanted orphan for far too long for his tastes.

Xavier was the first person who came along that understood about his mutation, and, in fact, embraced it, and showed the frightened boy to do the same. Scott had been a member of the professor's first class of mutant trainees, along with Jean, long before any of the others had come along and joined. The wheelchair-bound telepath was his most resilient father figure, his source of guidance and reliability in a world that seemed to make no sense more often than it made any.

Now, Xavier lay helpless and silent on the hospital bed, his hands folded on his stomach in a sick parody of a corpse. He was draped in pale blue blankets, and his skin looked eerily like white clay, with sweat beads dotting his high forehead. Plastic tubes ran from his hands and throat, and a machine hummed alongside the bed as it breathed for him, pumping oxygen into his tattered lungs.

In all the time that Scott had known the man, he'd come to hardly notice his crippling disability. His teacher had always seemed far too disciplined and imposing to appear weak, too strict-faced and mentally capable to look like harm could ever come to him. The wheelchair was just another physical characteristic, like his Roman nose and severe eyebrows, rather than an outward sign of his paralysis.

But as he lay in that bed, looking feeble and undeniably old, Scott realized just how vulnerably mortal his mentor really was. And if the great Charles Francis Xavier was so vulnerable, meaning that the world's most powerful telepath and the guiding light in so many young lives was still susceptible to danger's clutch, then they _all_ were, Scott realized with a jolt.

Scott clasped his hands together, trying to ignore the tug of exhaustion at his eyelids. He hadn't been to bed in nearly three days, although he occasionally fell asleep sitting in the hard-backed plastic chair beside the professor's bed. The others would trickle in periodically, usually staying for a few hours before a nurse would come in and usher them out, none of them having enough nerve to ask Scott to leave. From time to time, he could hear the nurses whispering about "that poor boy", and "such a horrible tragedy".

Hank and Moira had come in early that morning on a commercial jet, neither wanting any of the students to fly at the moment, and not wanting Storm or Logan to leave the kids behind at such a time, either. Their presences were warmly welcomed, and they had rushed to the hospital before they had even dropped off their bags at the mansion.

Moira, her auburn hair disheveled and her glasses slightly askew, was pacing, unable to sit still long enough to do much more than check the professor's vitals. She'd been determined to transfer Xavier back to the mansion where she and Hank could keep a closer eye on him in the infinitely superior medical bay there, rather than the "useless Yankee medi-quacks" at the hospital, as she had referred to the doctors. Hank, on the other hand, had remained considerably calmer, and had convinced the frantic Scotswoman that moving a coma patient could easily be more damaging than beneficial, and Moira had simply dropped into a chair for a long cry, with Kitty silently, softly stroking her upper back.

There was a faint rustling of sound in the doorway, and Scott glanced up to see Jean leaning against the doorjamb, her red hair coiled into a long, thick braid, and her arms crossed over her chest. She eyed him sadly for a moment, then pressed a gentle smile onto her lips and approached the bed. She came silently to his side, draping her arm over his shoulder and pecking his forehead with a tiny kiss. Her slim hand slipped onto his neck, cool and tender, squeezing the tensed muscles there.

"You go get something to eat. I'll stay here with them." She nodded hello to Hank, who smiled at her, the harsh neon light on the ceiling glinting off of his wire-framed glasses. Moira had collapsed against his enormous shoulder, suddenly asleep.

Scott shook his head. "Nah. I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten in more than forty-eight hours, Scott," Jean scolded kindly.

"I'm okay. Really."

She nodded, smiling crookedly. "I knew you'd say that. So I brought you food." She handed him a paper sack and a bottle of grapefruit juice, practically forcing them into his hands. "Eat."

Muffled in Hank's sleeve, eyes still clamped shut, Moira grumbled something almost unintelligible. "Eat yuir damn food, Scott. Ye hae nae eaten in too long, an' I won' hae ye faded t' nothing when Charlie wakes up. He'd hae me head on a pike, f'r sure."

"Later," Scott mumbled, shoving the food aside on the bedside table. Jean shook her head, but said nothing, and Hank looked relatively nonchalant. Moira sat up and yawned, patting Hank's side as if to brush away the memory of her head leaning there, slightly embarrassed.

Again, a sound in the doorway caused them all to look up, and Kitty stood there with Storm at her side. The tall, exotic woman's hands were wrapped around the base of a glossy, lushly leaved potted plant, with massive red blossoms hanging plumply from the branches, full of seeds like largely pregnant fruits. She placed it gently on the low table by the door, and glided in on soundless footsteps, nodding at Moira and Hank in the window seat and reaching down to smooth Scott's rumpled brow. Kitty hung back, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"Have the doctors shared any recent news?" Ororo asked quietly, her voice a rich chocolate hum even with the drone of the air conditioner on the windowsill threatening to swallow her soft, deep tone. Jean shook her head sadly, and Moira harrumphed, rolling her eyes as if the idea that the doctors had made progress was laughable at best.

Kitty bit her lip and tried not to let her gaze linger on the professor's slack figure for too long, lest she burst into tears. "Why can't they, like, make some frigging progress? This is so _totally_ ridiculous!"

Ororo patted the girl's hand, and turned to Jean, her expression serene but hopeful. "And what of you, Jean? Anything on a more intimate front?"

Jean sighed, dropping into a chair she'd dragged up beside Scott and leaning her cheek on her hand. Her face wore a hesitant mask. "I still can't get into his head, no matter how hard I try. He's _there_, just not…able to communicate. He's still too weak."

"But he isnae gone? Not completely?" Moira asked, her expression expectant.

"No, not at all. He's definitely nearby. His astral form is still present in his body, but when he lapsed…you know, into the coma, his mind sort of closed in on itself. I can't get in, and I don't know if he's trying to get out."

Glancing away, Hank rubbed absently at his face, trying not to let the others notice the moist glimmer in his behind his glasses. Moira was staring down at her shoes, and Scott's eyes still lingered solely on the professor. Jean rubbed his forearm gently, and noticed Kitty staring anxiously at her when she glanced around the room.

"_What is it_, _Kitty_? _What's_ _wrong_?" Jean asked mentally, her narrow red eyebrows slanting inward slightly.

She saw the younger girl gulp heavily, trying to keep down her sadness. She clasped her palms together as if they were terribly cold. "_Could…could I talk to you in the hallway_, _Jean_? _Please_?"

Jean nodded and rose to her feet, saying nothing to the others, who understood the unheard message that had been passed between the two young women. Scott didn't seem to notice that the two were gone, but he shivered slightly when Jean's hand left his arm.

Jean shut the door softly behind her, not bothering to trouble herself with the undrawn, gauzy curtains on the other side of the thick window. She turned to face Kitty, and the slender brunette was already loosing the fight against her tears, and Jean soothed her quietly with a cool palm against her cheek.

"Is there something you want to talk about, Kitty?" she whispered, feeling the need to let her voice be heard outside of her skull, and hoping to calm Kitty with it.

"Have you…have you seen Kurt in the past day or two?"

Jean's fair eyebrows drew inward again, and her eyes looked momentarily pained. "Not much. He doesn't seem particularly eager to come out much these days. He's come to visit the professor a couple of times, but I don't think I've heard him even speak once."

Kitty sighed sadly, and it came out sounding like a desperate little moan. "I know! That's exactly what I mean! He's, like, so totally bummed…and worse than ever. I mean, I know he's sad, but I've never seen him so ripped up before. Never like _this_! Oh, God…it's never been like this."

She slid onto a bench outside the door, and Jean took a seat next to her, moving quickly in case the girl's feet went out underneath her before she sat all the way down. She looked pale and haggard, and her cheeks had lost their normal blush in exchange for an unhealthy ruddiness brought on by crying. Her eyes looked slightly red, and her hair hung loosely around her face, brushed and washed but no more styled than anyone else's at the moment.

Kitty tipped forward, her elbows resting on her knees and her face in her hands. Jean laid her fingertips across the base of the girl's skull, lightly playing against her hairline, and leaned forward to whisper, "It's going to be alright, Kitty."

With a burst of sudden speed, Kitty's head snapped back up, her eyes flashing. "How do you know? How do you know for _sure_? Kurt's more depressed than I've ever seen him, the professor's unconscious, and the little brat who did this did it because _I _upset her! I can't believe I couldn't just keep my big mouth shut for, like, once."

"Kitty, please. You know this isn't your fault. It isn't anyone's fault, really."

"'Cept Nat's."

Jean frowned, her lip curling back a bit into a tiny semi-growl. "Fine. You go ahead and blame her. Everyone else apparently does. But before you do, ask yourself one very important question: do you think _Kurt_ blames her? If so, do you think he _wants_ to? And if not, have you ever considered that this guilt-spreading game of ours might be exactly what's upsetting him so badly?"

The large blue eyes were cast downward, ashamed. "I…never really thought of that."

Jean sighed, shaking her head as if to loosen something irritating inside. "Whether or not she's responsible isn't what's most important right now. From what we saw, she's as guilty as sin, but we also have no way of knowing if that's accurate." She clapped her hands against her bare thighs, dressed in denim shorts. "I understand, Kitty. Really, I do. I've never been as angry at anyone as I am at her right now. But the important thing right now is sticking together and getting through this. And that includes Kurt, even if that means we can't exactly direct blame at anyone for the time being."

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Nat's hands were trembling, the heat of an unwanted flame traveling with stunning speed throughout her limbs. She squeezed her eyes shut forcefully, running her dry tongue against the back of her teeth and trying to concentrate on the voice on the telephone. Her own words sounded as if they were being spoken by another mouth, a mime inside a speaker listening to the sound of language as something foreign and inexplicable.

She'd tried to pretend that it didn't bother her, this idea of wandering aimlessly without a soul to confide in save a few friendly homeless boys and her own inner voice. In the conclusion, she had surrendered to the sense of necessity, the terrible fear that she was to end up without anything or anyone to lean on, forever.

So there it was. An agreement, hammered out on common terms between the speakers, one of whom was trembling with barely restrained eagerness, the other with a sense of disbelief at her own lack of self-control. A few words and sentences strung together in just the right pattern to change her life forever. There was no going back now. Not again.

On the other end of the line, Pietro smiled to himself.


	37. Rainfall

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**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Rainfall**

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By the time the rain began to fall, Logan was already soaked with perspiration and had peeled his shirt off of his back, bearing his sweaty skin to mosquitoes and other insects that dared to bite him. He tossed his head back with a rampant string of curses, his shaggy black mane fluttering, and took a long, dragging sniff of the air; the longer this summer rainfall continued, the less time he'd have to pinpoint the final traces of Nat's scent. He didn't have much time remaining before his difficult search became an impossible one.

The woods were relatively thin and not particularly tricky to navigate, compared to other situations he'd been in, but the nearly-faded odor of burning matter and the tang of watery ozone was making it difficult to isolate the fragrance that he sought. He'd been able to trace her this far with significantly more work than such a search would normally have required, and he was feeling frustrated and out of sorts.

It shouldn't be so _hard_, and the knowledge of this made him rather uncomfortable. There was something important about knowing that you can always find those that are running from you or after you, and now Logan was left without this certainty. Without Xavier to man the helm at the Cerebro system and with Logan's own nose playing the proverbial fool's game, it felt as if his hands had been tied behind his back. Natalie was out there somewhere. He just didn't know how to find her.

There wasn't much more that he could do but keep sifting meticulously through the wooded area, sniffing and searching. The region could barely be qualified as a forest, as small as it was, but Nat's strangely translucent trail made him repeatedly reach dead-ends, or come back upon areas that he'd already searched time and time again. As the frustration mounted and the scent continued to fade, Wolverine was becoming appreciably troubled, pondering the ominous idea that he wasn't going to make any headway before the rain washed out the last few traces of Nat's path.

But Logan wasn't a man who gave up that easily.

With his back hunched slightly so he was nearer to the ground, his muscles tight and fervently prepared for whatever might come about, Logan inhaled once more, a bottomless intake of the faint, valued scent. He breathed in the scent of the rain, the plants with their water-glossed leaves, the soggy earth and the woodsy smell of tree bark and rotten logs. Behind all of this, he breathed in the faintest traces of smoke, the feeblest hint of a formerly powerful aroma.

Somehow, in the tiniest, most distant fold of consciousness, he recognized something. His body clenched throughout, acknowledgment sparking his features. He snorted rather ferally, tasting the air as he looked to reclaim that potent, recognizable scent, if only for long enough to follow it a bit.

She'd been here. Sometime within the past few days, Nat Fairbanks had come tearing through the trees and through this very pathway. Logan grunted, his eyes glinting wildly. There was little doubt in his mind that this was no blind alley.

He shook his head, droplets of rain water scattering as if they'd been shaken from the pelt of a very large, wet dog. Spurred on by the quick, promising whiff of air, Logan wrapped a hand around a low-hanging tree branch and pushed it out of his path, making his way into a small clearing. The fragrance on the air once again seemed vaguely familiar, and his vertebrae were rigid with anticipation.

Logan glanced around, sniffing frantically. There was a rock and a toppled tree trunk in the clearing, furry with moss and cobwebs. Tiny red insects scurried into the decaying wood to protect themselves from the rain, and ferns bounced as raindrops pattered against their verdant fronds. There were no footprints in the muddy, needle-strewn soil, but the scent was clear enough now that there was little room for error: Nat had been here, and this was where her trail ended.

Something strange caught his attention, a foreign scent that belonged there even less than that of fire or a fleeing teenaged girl. There was another odor intruding upon that of smoke and young female sweat, one that made his blood begin to roil. It was a muskier scent, masculine and slightly cool, and altered with cologne. In some way, it was familiar, but that familiarity was alarming rather than encouraging.

Quicksilver.

Fury welled up within his chest, a growl vibrating past his lips. So _that_ had been her warped little game. Play the X-Men for clowns and gain their trust, only to turn on them by ripping them from their leader, physically and emotionally. Logan had lost a lot of people in his life, most of them remaining only as dim, impersonal memories that he received once and a while in his dreams. He knew what it was like to lose the most important person in your life, and the thought that the kids he looked after were going through this was…unnerving.

Had she planned it that way all along, with Magneto and his cronies backing her up all the way? Memories of the "private" kiss that the two teenagers had shared rose in his mind. He remembered the shocked look on Nat's face when his presence had been made known, and an angry heat rolled up his spine.

Logan felt the urge to cause some serious destruction, and his claws broke painfully through the skin on the backs of his hands. He screwed his face up tightly, willing himself under a sense of better control, and the metallic blades shrank back inside their fleshy prison.

The faint odor of gasoline and exhaust caught his attention. Incensed, he continued searching the modest clearing, following what was now, somehow, a very unambiguous path between the trees, ending in a second clearing. This one was significantly smaller than the first and mostly hidden by thickets of blackberry bushes and broad tree trunks, a worthy attempt at keeping it hidden. There, obscured by vegetation and the muddy ground, he took note of a pair of deep, rutted tire tracks. They were those of a truck, presumably Maximoff's.

He followed those tracks back out to the main road, where they were lost to his sight. The mingled scents of the two teenaged mutants were gone as well, and Logan cracked his knuckles against his fist, grunting and letting out a foul string of curses.

Part of him was numb. Another part was raging with fury, barely kept checked, promising some sort of damage to be done. He unconsciously bared his strong, white canine teeth, clenching his jaw and flexing the muscles at the base of his skull. He stood stock still for a few moments, thinking and breathing hard.

Unsure of what he was going to say when he returned there, Wolverine began thrashing his way through the protesting plant life toward the mansion. God only knew how he was going to manage to bring _this_ to light.

_How the hell am I gonna tell the Elf_? Logan thought to himself, frowning. _Sure ain't no way _not_ to tell 'im._

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It was early yet, and the curtains were still drawn tightly against the bright sun, now just an obscure white ball amidst the rain clouds, that had been assailing upon the area for the past week or so. The window, though, was open a crack, in the unconscious hope that Nat might come back in the middle of the night, and try to reach Kurt. Such an action was unlikely, on the part of the fleeing girl, but Kurt refused to pass up the possibility.

The young mutant in question lay on his back in bed, bare from the waist up and shivering. He was still somewhat groggy from having just awoken from another night of fitful rest, and he listened inattentively to the sound of the rain falling rhythmically on the roof. It was a somehow comforting sound, common and continuous, like so little else in the world. There was a reassurance in the uninterrupted patter or raindrops, sometimes faltering a bit or growing stronger, but never stopping completely.

He yawned broadly, stretching his long legs and letting out a pent-up groan of exhaustion, his toes curling slightly. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, and fatigue was starting to take its toll on his body, not to mention his mind. By four or five in the morning, only a few hours ago, he'd crawled into his bed and simply collapsed, unable to spend more than ten minutes lost in thought before sleep finally overcame him.

Hastily, Kurt kicked the covers aside and let his feet slide out of the bed and onto the floor, suppressing a tremor. He yawned again, flexing the muscles in his shoulders and rolling his head back and forth to release the tension that had built up at the nape of his neck. He paused at the window, considering closing it as rainwater entered as rampant droplets, but decided against it. He made his way blearily to the bathroom, shedding his pajama pants on the way, and turned the shower on as hot as it would go without singeing his flesh.

Kurt stepped inside the stall as the bathroom began to fill with steam, fogging the glass of the shower door and the mirror above the sink. He spared no time, and soaped and rinsed as quickly as he could, unable to spend too much time in one spot before his mind began to wander. Careless thinking was the last thing that he needed at the moment. He left the bathroom and began to promptly dress himself.

As he pulled on his sweater, he couldn't help but wonder whether or not Nat had been able to find something to wear, or if she was outside in the rain, still naked. The thought pained him, but it gave him a sick little thrill at the same time: not only was it rather titillating, but it was pretty damn funny, too. Despite the distress he felt at losing her so suddenly, the anger that had been released when she revealed her indiscretion hadn't completely faded. The idea that she was suffering a little was both agonizing and comforting.

Even Kurt wasn't entirely sure why the knowledge of her kiss was such a surprise, or why it had hurt so much to hear about it. He caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror beside the door, looking scraggly and soggy with his fine indigo fur tufted in places. The fuzz was dark with water, and almond-shaped orbs of gold peered out of his shadowy face. His lip curled up, showing the sharp, animal-like teeth. He glanced down at his large hands and feet, oddly-shaped and lacking the proper number of digits, and felt his tail coil around his ankle within the leg of his pants where it was stowed when he left the house.

Briefly, mentally, he compared himself side-by-side to the white-haired young man who had become his arch-nemesis so abruptly. Pietro and Kurt had similar physical shapes, both being built on the trim side, and both had the same lean, wiry strength in their agile musculatures. From there on, they differed almost completely. Pietro, in fact, was practically the photographic negative of Kurt, with white hair, fair skin and dark eyes. Their personalities differed, too, with Kurt playing the role of the kind-hearted jokester, and Pietro as the speed-driven egomaniac.

So, Nat Fairbanks had realized that Pietro was the preferred focus of her romantic interest, and had turned her attention outward in response. _No big surprise there_, Kurt thought rather bitterly.

No. That wasn't fair. Even Kurt, as upset as anyone would be in his situation, knew that it wasn't as simple as all that. It hurt to no end to know that she had let Quicksilver touch her, and had actually _responded_, but Kurt had seen the expression in her spacious green eyes when she told him about the kiss.

She'd been terrified.

The question that was left, then, was whether she had been afraid because she was troubled over getting caught, or if she had really been experiencing guilt. He thought, and prayed, that it was the latter. It was a thought that had been plundering his every waking moment, and some that weren't waking as well.

His thoughts trailed away from that kiss, which in his imagination was becoming less and less realistic and progressively more passionately heated, and came to rest on the situation with the professor. On the outside, he was expected to blame her immediately, as the almost overwhelming sense of circumstantial evidence had caused the others to do. Deeper down, though, he had doubts.

In all, he really didn't think that Nat had started the fire. How to explain her presence in the midst of the flames, though…he didn't know for sure.

In less than ten minutes, he was dressed and ready to go downstairs for breakfast. The others were probably waiting for him, wondering if he was going to make it down or miss breakfast for the third day in a row. He paused for a moment to retrieve his holowatch, and slipped it around his narrow wrist, leaving the holographic imitation-Kurt turned off for the time being.

As his hand hovered over the drawer that had held the watch, his eye caught something on the desktop, and his limbs felt suddenly heavy. He stared at it for a moment, pondering whether or not he should pick it up or continue as if he hadn't seen it. His hand quivered, wanting to lift it and stand with it in his fingertips, but his mind negated the desire.

There was an almost painful implication in seeing the faded red baseball cap lying discarded on the desktop among the scattered papers and CD cases, and an even stronger one in leaving it there, untouched and alone.

He turned and left the room, trying to look reasonably cheerful as he made his way down the wide staircase to meet the others for breakfast. The walls seemed higher than usual.

When he pushed the heavy oak door inward and entered the dining room, there was a momentary silence, and he felt a slight blush creeping up on his cheeks. Luckily, it's hard to tell when a blue guy is blushing, and the room was relatively empty, anyway.

Rogue was sitting at the table beside Jean and Evan, all three of them eating toast and cold cereal, and Ororo was quietly tending to the vases of orchids scattered about the room. With her head hunched and her glasses sliding down her nose, Dr. MacTaggart was pouring over what looked like copies of the professor's medical records, her breakfast mushy and untouched. Her broad-shouldered partner was nowhere to be found. Scott was obviously still at the hospital, and Kitty was probably there with him. Wolverine, Kurt guessed, was still out combing the area for a trace of Nat's whereabouts.

Kurt smothered a sigh.

There was a round of mumbled greetings. Rogue looked like she was trying to avoid his eyes, and Evan looked almost artificially cheerful, while their red-haired friend looked more relieved than anything else. Moira ignored all of them, too engrossed to even realize that she wasn't alone in the room.

It was Storm's eyes that met his most intently, their clear blue surfaces glossy and pained, but happy at the same time to see Kurt looking virtually normal. She smiled brightly, beckoning to him gently with one imperial, long-fingered hand. Her bracelets bangled lightly together, and they sparkled under the lights with a quiet tinkling sound.

"Will you please assist me, Kurt? Grab that vase by your side and bring it into the kitchen. The poor things are desperate for fresh water, and I made a mess the last time I summoned rain clouds in the dining room." She didn't pause long enough to breathe between sentences, not giving him the time to protest or even hesitate before she took a vase and disappeared into the kitchen. He briefly wondered why she didn't simply bring the rain to the flowers, as she so often did, but shrugged and followed her with a vase in hand. He thought he saw Evan and Jean exchange a glance as he passed. Kurt smiled faintly at them, and they seemed to relax.

Storm paused at the sink, pouring the dirtied water down the drain and waiting for Kurt to hand her his vase. When he did, she took it silently, and didn't look up to meet his curious gaze, apparently too focused on her task to do so. She creased her brow ever so slightly and brought the fresh water that the flowers needed out of thin air, handing a vase back to Kurt.

Her fingers lightly pressed against the back of his hand, and he was silent, looking up at her. Ororo Munroe was a striking woman, with an almost overwhelming air of sovereignty about her, like a matriarchal statue carved from chocolate-colored marble. He knew why she had been seen as a goddess, and where she had earned the name "Beautiful Windrider". Snowy hair tumbled down her back, and cerulean eyes peered at him, quizzical. She stared calmly with an inquiring look on her face, asking things that remained unspoken.

Kurt felt his lungs tremble, unable to take in all the air that they required. "I…I'm alright, Storm."

Her slender white eyebrows lowered in thought. "_Are_ you, child?"

He paused, taking in a shallow, trembling breath, and nodded. His hands tightened around the thin crystal neck of the vase. "_Ja_," he sputtered, softly.

She nodded at him, not speaking lest her words seem somehow inappropriate, or not entirely welcome. There was a long hush, broken only by the sound of the drumming rain outside, and he realized for the first time that this rainfall, like the one that had replenished the orchids in the vases, wasn't entirely natural. The realization donned on him with an internal nudge, and he felt somewhat vacant when he figured it out. It was hard to accept, even in its evident straightforwardness.

The African goddess called Storm, the epitome of reserved collection and placidity, felt as hollow as they all did at the loss of their professor. A knot had formed in the younger mutant's throat.

The quiet was devastated by a sudden noise not far away, and both Kurt and Ororo jumped at the sound. Kurt whirled around, and the vase slipped from Storm's hand, shattering on the edge of the countertop and scattering the fuchsia-budded orchids into the sink.

Wolverine stood in the open doorway, the dark summer sky behind him looking heavy and gray with the rain coming down in sheets that had plastered his hair to his forehead. He glanced at Kurt, frowning deeply, and turned his attention to Storm with a quick nod before returning it to the younger mutant. His face looked craggy and angry, as usual, but uncharacteristically apprehensive as well. Sickness welled in the bottom of Kurt's stomach.

"We gotta talk, Elf."


	38. Another Kind of Knowing

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**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Another Kind of Knowing**

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There was a long silence in the truck. The radio was turned off, and the air conditioner's hum was nearly inaudible. Outside, the sound of wind passing the vehicle and the intermittent drone and buzz of the other cars muted the sound of Nat's pounding heartbeat. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat, the backs of her legs clinging to the leather, and stared down at her intertwined hands.

Beside her, Pietro said nothing and kept his attention firmly on the road ahead. He drove quickly, the same way he did all else in the world, and every few minutes he would have to whip the steering wheel sharply to one side to avoid colliding with the rear of another car. Nat stared at him for a lengthy, soundless while, watching his profile as if doing so would tell her something about what was going to happen next.

Pietro had found Nat waiting for him in a narrow strip of dry grass that flanked the interstate where he had dropped her off a few days earlier. She was still dressed in the clothes he had given her, and her skin and hair looked somewhat dusty and blanched. Her feet were gray with dirt. Her arms were wrapped around her torso in discomfort, clearly aware of her less than stellar appearance. She looked like a bum, and knew it perfectly well.

He wouldn't soon forget the expression on her face when he pulled the truck up alongside her, and tossed the door open so she could climb inside. Her eyes were narrowed and slightly red, her shoulders pulled in tightly as if she were trying to make herself implode. Quicksilver might not be the best at reading other people's emotions or intentions, but he would have to be blind to miss her discomfort.

His face lit up suddenly, and he reached a lean arm into the backseat, pulling out a small paper sack and dropping it into her lap. She eyed it warily and opened it to find a turkey sandwich and a slightly bruised banana waiting at the bottom of the sack, wrapped in a paper napkin. Her stomach growled impatiently, but her head told her to be a little less impulsive. She was _supposed_ to be trusting him here, but it was easier said than done. Nat glanced at him suspiciously, and he let out an acerbic laugh.

"Chill out, would you? Damn, Flamethrower, you're acting like I _forced_ you to come with me. Nobody kidnapped you or nothin'." Pietro shrugged irritably and rolled his eyes. "I just thought you might be hungry, 's all," he said, but he once again his attention had returned to the road. She caught sight of a smug grin on his face, quickly smothered.

"Um…thanks."

He yawned. "No problem."

That silence descended again. Nat swallowed tightly to wet her sore throat, eating the offered food quickly and without a hint of ladylike manners. Her stomach had been pretty much empty for three days now, save the apple and bread from several nights earlier, and her metabolism was furious at the neglect. She felt his eyes resting on her as she ate, and ignored the uncomfortable impression that he was somehow appraising her.

"Careful not to eat the napkin, there," he snorted, and she shot him an aggravated glare.

Around a mouthful of the soft yellow fruit, she sputtered, "Shove it," and went diligently back to her lunch, finishing the sandwich in just a few big bites.

They were coming back into Bayville now, and she fought down the urge to duck her head below the bottom edge of the window. She could see her reflection in the glass, and remembered that it was tinted, breathing out a sigh of relief. Nat knew that at some point she was going to have to relax again, but she just wasn't ready yet. The idea that they might pass Scott or Kurt on the sidewalk, and that they might see her in the truck, made her blood run cold.

They passed rows and rows of neatly manicured lawns and suburban-style homes, some with rose gardens in full bloom or porch swings where she could imagine the homeowners sitting down and drinking lemonade. A group of eleven-year-old boys came around a corner on bikes, shrieking and laughing, followed by a group of girls whose bikes carried baskets brimming with dozens of pinecones that were the perfect size for throwing. The pavement was shining and wet with the recent torrential rain, which was just now beginning to slow.

It was a deceptively provincial setting, she knew, and one with an almost illusory traditional quality. None of the people in these homes knew that in their midst were some of the most powerful mutants in the world, and their young charges, too. If the knowledge got out of everything that the X-Men and the Brotherhood knew, and were capable of doing, these people would loose their minds in terror.

Or try to lynch them. One or the other, maybe both.

She caught sight of a slash of vividly anti-mutant graffiti on the wall of a small grocery, a blur of multi-colored spray paint enacting a vicious scene in which bright red paint seemed to be most prevalent. The dead mutant, a cruel approximation of a human form with garishly distorted features, lay with a man's boot planted in his midsection. The man wore a shirt that read "Friends of Humanity", and an American flag with too many stripes was scrawled on the wall behind him. The mutant's face was twisted in pain and its tongue bulged out unattractively. Devil's horns adorned its head.

Nat sighed and looked away. There was a heavy fatigue pulling on her eyes, spurred on by the warmth outside and the faint, soothing vibrations of the vehicle. Her discomfort kept her awake, but her body didn't like it.

Her stomach felt a bit warped, calmed by the presence of a bit of food but aggravated by her surroundings.

With every second, they were coming closer to her home at Xavier's mansion. Her former home, that is. A fine, cool sweat sprang up on her forehead. She ran the back of her hand across her face, licking her over-dried lips as she imagined what must be going on there. What _should have been going on._

It was a Saturday, so no one was off at Bayville High. Normally, Xavier would be leading the students in their first of three hours of intensive Danger Room training, tossing new situations and objectives at them each time. Often, there would be some sort of twist in the plan, or some unanticipated obstacle, usually something entirely unforeseen but equally plausible. The first time that one of her teammates had "died" on one of these mini-missions, Nat had been terrified. That had essentially been the main idea.

Now, of course, Xavier wasn't there to lead the training sessions. Perhaps Storm and Logan were there to take over temporarily, until the professor could get back to work. Well, if he ever did. The familiar thought made her feel slightly nauseated, and she pressed a hand against her abdomen.

There was really no way of knowing what was going on at the mansion, save walking up to the door and asking politely. Instead, she tried to internally visualize what she thought the others might be doing. There was only one place where she could imagine Scott: at the hospital, hovering over the professor's bedside like a lonely puppy, his face tired but set in determination. Jean was probably with him, her presence one of customary calm and quiet strength, Scott's only anchor in a suddenly out-of-tilt world.

It was probable that Evan, Kitty and Rogue were at the mansion, Rogue shut up in her room and Evan as hyper as an impatient toddler, while Kitty tried to pretend that she wasn't upset even when she was close to tears. Storm was likely taking on the roll of the chief parental unit, and Logan was either getting drunk and violent or out looking for her. Hopefully, for the sake of her own skin, he wasn't doing both at the same time.

The only person she couldn't seem to picture was Kurt. He was, rather, the only one that she couldn't examine or interpret at the moment. He was the only one that looked unclear in the lens of her mental security camera.

Oh, Nat could _see_ him, even feel him. His face was etched forever in her mind, and it was almost always smiling, lovely yellow eyes glinting with a joke or a look of gentle affection. She could see his hands, strong and warm against her own, and remembered the way his tail sometimes twitched when he kissed her. She could even recall the pattern of muscles on his lean back, and the way his smile was slightly crooked when he was most content. Nat knew the softness of the light fuzz on his cheeks. She could see every part of _him_, except what he was thinking at that moment, and how he must be feeling.

Had she hurt him badly? Nat knew that she cared about him more than she had ever cared about another, and somehow also knew that he felt the same. She was excruciatingly aware of the pain that she had caused him when he heard of her indiscretion. The worst part was that she didn't know if he harbored real anger toward her, or if he still loved her the way she did him.

Most of her wanted him to care for her forever, to disregard her faults and embrace her dumbly with blinded adoration. It was impossible to overlook this desire, to pretend that she wanted him to forget her. She wanted his love forever.

Still, she couldn't quite swallow the idea that he wouldn't or shouldn't be upset. Nat had seen the look of pain in his eyes when she revealed her secret, the heartache and injured fury sparking where his pupils would have been if nature hadn't decided to play games with its creations. He _had_ been angry, aching with a ferocity brought about by injury. Would he feel less pain if he didn't care for her anymore, if he hated her and went on with his life as if she were nothing more than a bad memory? If that was the case, she prayed that he would.

If only it were that simple, and none of them could remember her.

Nat had tried to forget them, with less than superior results. She could remember all the silly arguments over the breakfast table. There were hardly any bad memories that had Kurt in them. Only a few.

And those had been her own stupid fault.

Pietro's foot seemed to fall on the gas pedal with a bit more force than usual, and Nat's attention returned to the outside world. To her left she could see a very recognizable patch of magnolia trees in bloom, while she spotted the mouth of Graymalkin Lane to the right. Her heart twanged slightly, and she ignored it with all her ability. The urge to pull something over her face to hide from being spotted was almost unbearable, but she stomped it out of existence. In the driver's seat, Pietro could see her watching the street with a wounded expression, and he sped up even more. Soon, Graymalkin was a fading speck in the distance.

Then it was completely out of sight.

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Kurt felt vacant.

Quicksilver. She had left with _Quicksilver_.

Of all the things he had thought he might hear, he had thought of this possibility the least, but feared it the most. Somehow, he had misread her so badly, and perhaps angered her with his reaction to her confessions, that she had felt the need to leave with his new enemy. Kurt chewed on his lip, thinking.

Was she with Pietro, or _with_ Pietro? Neither option was to his liking, but the latter was far more difficult to gulp down.

Sickness threatened to leave tears in its wake, but the emptiness wrestled the sadness into submission, and left only an oddly blank sensation behind. His head hummed with silence, making his skull feel like a drum that pulsated with rapid-fire finger beats. He felt drugged, absent, unaware.

He sank onto a stool near the counter, staring at the cabinets and biting his tongue. A few steps away, he felt a light rush of air from Ororo's skirt as she tried to approach but was stopped by Wolverine, and heard the older man whisper something. Storm's gaze lingered on his back for a moment, then she took in a swallow of oxygen before exiting gracefully from the room. He could hear the jewelry on her ankle jangling in the hallway as she slowly departed.

There was a long moment of stillness, and neither man spoke. Wolverine stayed a few meters behind the younger mutant, dripping rainwater onto the tile floor. He seemed to read Kurt's silence, and understood the lack of words more than anything that could have been spoken aloud. Nonetheless, he felt the need to say something, and did.

"You, uh, alright, Elf?"

Kurt sighed, rubbing his eyelids with his thick blue fingertips. "_Ja_." He stood, pressing his palms against his eye sockets, and Wolverine stepped slightly aside to let him stagger by. "Ach. I need to take a valk."

Logan frowned, a vein in his neck jumping, but he nodded as Kurt swept passed him and out the back door. The screen swung shut with a loud banging sound that usually made Kurt jump. He hardly heard it this time.

The blue-furred mutant stood silently on the back porch for a while, breathing in the scent of wet grass and the warm, moist air. The rain had nearly stopped, with the exception of a few latent raindrops that seemed to drop down heavily from out of nowhere, and the clouds were already beginning to thin so that the sun glowed faintly through with its more customary yellow light.

Knowledge, assumptions, doubts and questions all warred amongst themselves in his brain. He was more aware than ever that he knew nothing about Nat, and perhaps never had. When she made her confessions, and told him of her painful history, he had never, not for a moment, considered abandoning her for her past. She had hurt others, even killed them, but at heart he believed that she was a good person. She could love, and he thought she had loved him.

Now, he could feel himself beginning to wonder. 

She had betrayed him, and questions were raised in the shadow of that duplicity. Had she planned it to happen this way, never really loving him? Or had she broken down in the heat of her pain and fear, and abandoned him then?

No matter what, one thing was somehow certain: Nat Fairbanks had never intended to hurt Xavier. In some way, deep inside himself, he was positive of that. Perhaps she had never loved him, but he knew that she was not a murderer. Not usually, anyway.

Of course, she was conceivably capable of it, both physically and mentally. He knew of the existence of her rage, her hidden desire for revenge and retribution, and her inability to contain her anger at times. She had always tried to pretend that she was in full control of her emotions and her powers, and always tried to be so, but Kurt had known from the day he met her that she was often led astray by simple passion. He could see this long before her confession about the school and the truth about her father's death had come to light.

More than anything, Kurt knew that Nat was angry. She was angry at fate for its cruelty in dealing her a pitiable hand, angry at the treatment she had received from everyone from her parents to her schoolmates, angry at the bigots that loathed her kind with such ruthless brutality for no fault of their own. Hatred was burning a black spot on her spirit, staining her. He had known this for quite some time, and said nothing, subconsciously fearing that she would turn to the Brotherhood when she realized that the X-Men cared nothing for revenge.

Apparently, he had feared correctly about that.

Despite his confirmed worries and his muddled sense of uncertainty, he was certain about another area. Nat _hadn't_ tried to harm Xavier. Perhaps she had started the fire, and maybe she had even been involved with Pietro Maximoff, romantically, professionally or otherwise, but she had _not_ tried to hurt the professor, despite what his teammates might think. The others' insistence was starting to wear him slightly ragged, but he still trusted his heart on the matter.

Somehow, he knew that he was right about this. His knowledge went beyond his normal understanding of the universe, and went against evidence that seemed to be as clear as day. It was a "knowing" that he felt more than comprehended, one that was new to him. It was a knowing that the others couldn't grasp. It wasn't born of indication, or proof, or understanding.

It was another kind of knowing.

But he _knew_ it.


	39. Monkey Mans Acquaintances and a Very Dru...

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**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Monkey Man's Acquaintances and a Very Drunk Pig**

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The astral plane had never seemed so all-encompassing.

Xavier knew the sensation of leaving the corporeal world behind, of accepting the mentally projected universe over the physical one, but never before had he been so keenly aware of his own sensitivity to it. These were surroundings he had known since the dreams of his childhood, a place that had long since become his only refuge. It was here that his devastated limbs were no longer a liability, and his incredibly powerful mind could expand to the fullest of its limits.

Now, the astral plane seemed oddly cold, unresponsive. He floated here, his mind as useless as his crippled body, and he couldn't explain why. Somehow, his telepathy was blunted, even here in the place where it had always seemed most vivid. All he could do was drift, silent and fatigued, letting his physical body slowly gain strength as his mind tried to do the same.

In the hospital room, he lay limply, a respirator pumping air into his dilapidated lungs, his sallow face looking haggard and far more elderly than his years. He could not see himself, but rather _sense_ his situation. To his distress, he could not detect the feelings of those that were there with him either, or even gaze across their thoughts for more than a moment or two. He could not contact the doctors and nurses, or even the students with whom he had shared his life for so many years, those that knew his mind better than any others.

With an agonizing realization, he took note of the fact that he could not even reach into Moira's mind, the only woman with whom he had truly shared love for most of his life. Now, she was his closest friend, and even _she_ could not sense his gently seeking mind.

So, Charles Xavier slipped back into that purring, hovering, soundless dwelling where no one touched him, and he touched no other. His mind was bare, and he was intolerably tired. It was a great weariness that slipped between his bones to deaden his flesh and melt his brain to unconsciousness with any contact. It was a long, numbing sleep with no apparent imaginings to liven it a little.

For the first time in a great while, Xavier was truly scared. It went beyond the fear he had felt as a child, mercilessly tormented by Cain Marko, while his mother's new husband beat her and humiliated the boys, or even the fear he had felt when he faced the Shadow King in battle, and his body was crushed beneath a slab of stone. It was reminiscent of the fear he had felt in the minds of so many others, some driven to the brink of madness by their pasts, but so unlike anything in his own experience.

He was unsure of why he was here. He recalled the heat of a fire and the agony as he had tried to breathe, even the last few seconds of psychic squalling he had sent out to his students. There had been no time for an answer to come, he supposed, but part of him could vaguely remember a familiar shape standing nearby.

It was Natalie, it must have been. He saw her face, even through the flames that had engulfed her, and she moved with a startling grace. She had not been burned or even uncomfortable by the unbearable ribbons of heat that snaked around her body, her skin white and unscarred. Her mind was calm, a shuddering star on the astral plane.

When he saw her, the professor had known instantly that he had been right about the possibility of uncharted mutant ability, a suspicion that he had long held. Nat had more hidden in her grab bag of talents than simple pyrokinesis, or even her incalculable invulnerability to heat. She had powers that Xavier had not even comprehended, let alone anticipated.

There was something much larger happening here.

In those last few moments before darkness overcame him, he had seen her face, her dark eyes glowing with an eerie orange reflection, and knew in an instant that she was unaware of what she was doing. Natalie, for all the anger and confusion that she harbored, had been oblivious of her own destructive potential. She was a psychic arsonist, just waiting for a spark to bring the detonation. Her hands had not sparked the blaze that consumed the mansion's wing, but her mind, unknowingly, had enflamed the professor.

This simple ignorance, and her own innocent concern for his welfare, had brutally intensified the onslaught, and made it all the less restrained. She had come to his side to help him, her mind reaching out to his with fingers of flame, like the thrashing of a drowning person that takes down their rescuer in a fit of panic.

And so the detonation had come.

His mind had frozen, as paralyzed as his broken limbs, and become an inadequate weapon against whatever was happening to him. Great swinging axes of psychic fire had come crashing through his head, his mind reeling back to protect itself, the astral heat singeing through his mental barriers. A blaze began to rage on the astral plane, and had not been squelched in the long days since.

He had been helpless, utterly incapable of fighting back, and now he was blocked from the outside world until his psyche could repair itself. It was an impatient wait for the professor and all the while he knew that Nat was out there somewhere, frightened and unaware of her own budding abilities.

If only there had been enough time to warn her.

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Irene shot upward in bed, almost rapping her skull sharply against the headboard in the process. The light bedcovers had been kicked away and she'd been lying there, cold but perspiring, in a state of fitful rest that couldn't quite be referred to as sleep. She was disoriented for a moment, and by the sounds of the street outside she discerned that it wasn't much later than nine or ten. Stress had driven her to bed quite early, and she had hoped to stay there until morning.

Unluckily, it hadn't worked out that way. As if she had _expected_ it to.

Her heart seemed to be pounding in her throat, and her hands felt clammy and cold, like wet sculptor's clay on a wheel. She ran her damp palm across her equally sweaty forehead, reaching for the glass on her bedside table to take a long, soothing swig. There was a peculiar sensation in the air tonight, and she felt utterly certain that something out of the ordinary was happening, somewhere.

Trying to calm herself, she sighed and let her feet slip out of the bed and onto the cool floor, wrapping her robe tightly around herself to ease her shivering. She made her way out of the room and down the stairs, not bothering to turn on the lights. In any case, the bulbs were likely to be burned out. They did her no good, anyway.

She nearly tripped over a furry lump at the bottom of the staircase, but shifted her foot at the last possible moment and sidestepped the sleeping golden retriever. The dog lifted its head and yawned, then flopped back down to return to its nap, glancing at the slippered feet of its master as she disappeared into the living room and sat down in one of the easy chairs.

Irene's hand hovered near the dusty green telephone, waiting for the ring that she was sure was going to come. She could practically taste her own anticipation. The tang of nervousness was slightly bitter on her tongue.

Sometimes, knowing what is likely to come is worse than having to wonder. When you speculate, you lay in bed, wide awake, thinking about all the possibilities and dwelling on the worst of them. There is always that chance that things will work out for the best, even when the mind has convinced itself otherwise. When you _know_ what is going to happen in the future, with all the life in your body and mind, then all of the wondering is eliminated. It takes away the unnecessary stress of those times when things work out for the best, but provides a sickening amount of certainty when the future looks less than bright.

Despite her most desperate attempts to persuade herself that perhaps she was wrong, she was quite sure of what was happening with that poor girl. Irene had known from the first moment that she had "met" Natalie Fairbanks that the child was far more powerful than she knew. The blind fortuneteller, despite her inability to see a centimeter in front of her own eyelids, could see the paths that Nat's powers were doubtlessly taking. This certainty was practically driving her insane, and it was not a comfortable feeling. It went beyond her usual pattern-sensing: there was only one strong path for the girl's powers to take.

And there was not a doubt in her mind that the young Brit was just the mutant that Magneto was looking for. Would it really be so bad if Natalie ended up with the Brotherhood? Irene didn't think so, at least not most of her. After all, there was always Pietro, and the girl's world wouldn't stop revolving if she ended up with him. But it just _might if she ended up in the hands of Magneto._

She didn't jump when the phone rang, but she did sigh loudly and hold the earpiece tightly to her head. She fought the urge not to wait for the voice on the other end to initiate conversation.

"Irene?"

The blind woman paused to swallow deeply. She had hoped that she was wrong, and that her painful certainty had been based on sleep-deprivation or something else of the sort. Apparently, she couldn't be so lucky.

"I'm here, Raven." Irene squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingertips against her sinuses as a headache set in.

"Good." She could practically hear the red-haired mutant smiling over the line, and suppressed a sigh. "I assume that you know why I'm calling?" There was no question in her tone.

"I suppose so. She's come to you?"

Raven chuckled, and the sound came out sounding like somewhere between chocolate and steel. "Of course. It appears that our young Pietro has been doing his research, and putting it into practice quite successfully. I'm on my way to meet them at the house in Bayville right now."

There was a long pause as Raven apparently waited for Irene to congratulate her. She received no such praise. The brunette cleared her throat and licked her lips, which were suddenly dry, then quietly added, "Do you really think you're doing the right thing?"

Irene heard her friend's sharp intake of air and the hiss of breath against her teeth. "Not this again."

"I was just asking, Raven."

"I don't give a damn whether you're asking or insinuating. If you have reason to believe that this isn't going to turn out the way we've planned, come out and say it. But don't keep beating around the bush."

"Fine. I won't. I don't think you should be doing this." Silence greeted her flare-up of conscience, and she couldn't help but wonder if her little outburst may not have had the desired effect. "Raven?"

"Are you sensing another possible outcome, then?" the other woman asked, her voice sounding clipped and short.

Irene wet her lips and thought for a moment. Fairbanks _was_ the mutant they were looking for, she was sure, and she had no reason to believe that she wouldn't join the Brotherhood after what had happened with the professor. Of course, it was dangerous to tell Mystique that, in so many words. It would be easy enough to lie, and hopefully get the kid off the hook. Then again…

"Not exactly."

"Then I think this conversation is finished, don't you? Perhaps I'll give you a jingle when the girl has fulfilled our requirements."

There was a sharp _snap_ as Darkholme's receiver was dropped back onto the cradle, and Irene sat in the chair for several minutes longer, silently listening to the tone on the other end of the line.

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Jason tossed an empty beer can over his shoulder, waiting for the sound of the crumpled aluminum meeting its long-lost brothers. He grinned when he heard it, and belched wetly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry glared at him, his upper lip curled and his heavy forehead lowered. The man looked like an enormous ape, and it stunned Jason every time he saw the older man that his massive girth didn't sprout from mutant genes.

"You're a pig, boy."

Yawning loudly, Jason shrugged and reached for another beer, popping the tab and spraying his shirt with foam. "Maybe, but at least I ain't a freakin'—" _hiccup_ "—monkey man."

Harry sighed and rolled his round gray eyes, with the dark, caterpillar-like eyebrows knitting together above them. He grasped the half empty cardboard case, which had originally held an entire twenty-four-pack, and slid it to his side of the table. Smiling crookedly and patting his companion's elbow, he draped his thick forearm protectively over the case. "I'm thinking that you've probably had more than enough of these for the evening."

Through the haze of alcohol, Jason hardly heard him, and smiled blearily, flashing a twisted thumbs-up sign. Harry sighed again. The kid was a moron.

They'd been sharing the same hotel room for the past week, ever since their group had been kicked out of the last one, and the twenty-something with the bright red mullet never passed up a chance to get as wasted as possible. He was a scrawny man, barely passable for an adult, with acne-scarred skin and body odor that was enough to anger a farm animal. Harry, ever the pinnacle of hygiene and etiquette despite his brawn, found himself appalled at least a dozen times a day.

At least it would be over in a month. Harry would stay for the conventions and to inaugurate the new local chapter, and he could be back to his wife and his daughter. It would be heaven on earth to be done with this hell-hole hotel room and ill-mannered roommates that smelled like vaguely like unwashed feet.

Harry left the inebriated man at the table with his last precious can of warm alcohol, hauling the rest of the case away to be hidden where Jason wouldn't find it for days: the shower. The kid would probably drink himself unconscious and pass out at the table, which was of no concern to _him_, so the older man decided to get ready for another night of sleep interrupted by the sounds of snoring and vomiting.

He was standing at the bathroom sink with his toothbrush in his hand when a loud eruption of noise from the hallway made him jump, and he splattered toothpaste across the mirror. He swore under his breath and raced into the room, confused and ready for a fight, if it was necessary. It sounded as if someone very large was trying to maneuver with a great weight in his arms. Harry scrambled to the door with surprising speed for one his size, and Jason teetered for a moment, his head thumping against the tabletop.

Silence descended again. Harry could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Another loud thud, and the rustling of bodies, sounded from the hallway.

"Who's there?" he barked, tensing his shoulders to prepare himself for whoever, or whatever, might be there.

There was a hush, as the people fell quiet and waited to listen. "That you, Harry?"

Relief flooded through Harry's barrel-like chest. For all his vastness and his almost supernatural ability to throw a well-aimed punch, Harry Kincaid was no fighter, and had no desire to quickly become one. He hated the sight of blood.

Flinging open the door, he grinned as several of his pals poured into the room, excitement etched on their faces. The scent of booze was on them as well, due to an ever-present boredom that had been dragging down morale, but some sort of thrill had sobered them right up.

Michael grabbed Harry by the shoulders, shaking him and breathing the smell of gin into his face. Harry fought the urge to curl his nose up in disgust, and laughed, pushing Michael away.

"What the hell is goin' on here?" he asked, grinning and trying to casually turn away from the three new reeking men that were invading his hotel room. Their exhilaration was infectious, however, and adrenaline started pumping through his veins.

"You're never gonna guess what happened to us tonight, man. Never!"

He grinned at Michael, amused by their enthusiasm despite his distaste at the men's drunken facades. A small Asian man named Dale, who looked like he couldn't be a threat to anyone but had an unnerving ability to intimidate others, grabbed the back of Jason's chair and sent him spilling to the floor. The offender laughed and straddled the newly vacated seat, propping his chin up on his palm. Harry felt himself snickering at the sight, and Jason snored away with his face planted in the carpet.

Jack, with his blonde hair flapping untidily around his pink ears, laughed loudly, slapping Harry's shoulders. "We saw that mutie girl!"

Harry frowned, staring at Jack's widely stretched, pinkish lips. He said nothing, unable to think of any way to respond.

"Ya know? That _girl_?"

Harry blinked. Jack just shook his head, looking ashamed. The room was silent for a moment or two, with the exception of Jason's gurgly snoring, and Michael laughed again, slightly louder than he would have been without the encouragement of his liquor. He grabbed the back of Harry's neck and steered the larger man's face down toward his own, grinning broadly.

"One of those girls from the amusement park," Michael said slowly, like he was explaining something to a brain-damaged child. He frowned when Harry still seemed to make no connection. "The one who wouldn't fight?" He waited a moment for Harry to catch up. He apparently didn't. "With the smoke comin' outta her and the freaky-ass mutie layin' in her lap?"

Understanding finally dawned in Harry's eyes, and Michael laughed, patting his cheek in what was almost a slap. Dale snorted and kicked distastefully at Jason's lax form. "Now he's got it!"

There was a moment of drunken celebration at Harry's recollection, but no one offered any further information as to why he should care so much about the reappearance of some mutie teenager. Harry nodded, smiling, and his eyes were wide with impatient questioning. "Sooo…?"

Dale suddenly rose to his feet, grasped Jason beneath the armpits, and dragged the unconscious man into the hallway. He came back empty handed and slammed the door behind him, dusting his hands together and flopping back down in his stolen chair. Everyone else ignored him.

Jack rolled his eyes, which were slightly bloodshot, and sighed loudly. "Ye're a god damned idiot, Monkey Man."

Michael glared at him for a moment, tossing what looked like a dirty napkin in his direction. "What our jackass friend here _meant_ to say is that we think she might be just what we need for a little 'happy landings' present for Mr. Creed."

Surprised to the point of nearly swallowing his tongue, Harry's hands spasmed and he felt his eyes bug out slightly. "_Creed_? Graydon Creed is comin' _here_?"

Jack looked immensely pleased with himself. "Damn straight. Probably sometime in the next two weeks."

"There's always rumors that Creed's comin' to town, and I've never seem the man in person yet." With a roll of his eyes, Harry dropped onto the edge of the nearest bed, rubbing his aching temples. "Still, why didn't you nab her? Wasn't she alone?"

Dale shook his head. His feet were propped up on the tabletop, and he was flipping through a discarded magazine he'd found on the floor, looking bored. "Nah. She was in a car and there was somebody with 'er. A guy, by the looks of it. Couldn't tell if it was one of them muties she was with before, 'cause his face was sorta hidden. Barely made her out through the tinted window."

"But it _wasn't_ the guy with the sunglasses, that's fer sure, so she might not be as well defended as before," Jack added. "The way it seems, she's somewhere in the neighborhood of _this_ hotel."

Grunting as he flung the magazine onto one of the beds, Dale folded his hands behind his head and frowned. "Creed'll be happier if we manage to grab one of them stronger ones, don't ya think?"

Michael ignored Dale and smiled, running a hand back through his mop of curly, sand-colored hair. "When she's not with those freaks, she doesn't look like the type that can fight back all that much. Without them, she's probably helpless. We keep our eyes open, an' we'll get our hands on her soon enough. And if not her, then one of her mutie friends will do."


	40. Heed Virgil

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"Do not trust the horse, Trojans!"  
-_Virgil_

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**Chapter Forty: Heed Virgil**

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"That…her?" a voice asked from somewhere within the vast, dimly lit living room. None of the windows were open, and the curtains were pulled tight against the sun outside, which was just now finishing its decent below the hills. A large television crackled in the corner, but the picture was so dark that it didn't help to light the room much.

"Who the hell do you _think_ she is?" Pietro hissed back, hurling a half-stuffed decorative pillow in the general direction of a dark lump in the corner, which just so happened to be one of his housemates. Todd Tolensky, the mutant known as Toad, laughed and dodged the fluffy missile, sending a larger one hurtling back. To his extreme delight, it beaned Pietro on the side of the head just as he turned his attention back to his guest.

Nat stifled a snicker with the back of her hand, not quite managing to look like she was coughing. Her white-haired tour guide momentarily looked like he was going to try to seriously injure Toad, but he softened at the sight of Nat's smile and ignored his friend instead.

"Are you still hungry?" he asked, sauntering toward the kitchen with his hands stuffed casually in his pockets.

She felt her stomach rumble quietly in response, but Pietro hadn't heard it, and she shook her head. "Not really, but I could certainly use a shower. I'm assuming you've got one of those—" she gestured back toward the living room, where Toad was still cackling loudly to himself "—despite the personal hygiene of _that_ one."

Pietro snorted out a little laugh and nodded his agreement. "Lemme give you a quick go-around of the place first. That way, things'll look less confusing tomorrow mornin'." He grinned, waving his hand toward the walls of the room they'd entered. "This is the kitchen, I'm sure you can tell. That door goes to the backyard, and that one to the pantry. There are a couple of living rooms, like the one we just left."

Nat glanced around, trying to take it all in with just a few glances. Her stomach was doing flips inside her midsection. Of course, she was terribly nervous about being in the home of the X-Men's enemies, but there was also something else that bothered her, something strange in the sense of déjà vu that permeated the entire experience. It hadn't been that long ago that Kurt had given her a tour of the Xavier mansion on the shores of Breakstone Lake, and an odd sensation of guilt rattled her bones.

On top of it all, there was the unsinkable feeling of being beaten. She'd been telling Pietro since the beginning to leave her alone, that she would never join him because she was loyal to her new friends at the Xavier Institute, and here she was, entering his home as if it were her own. In some way, it was humiliating. She felt as if a promise had been broken, and he had proven her to be a liar. Or, worse, he had managed to wear her down to the point of submitting, while the idea of submitting to Pietro was still both appealing and disgusting to her.

_I suppose it _is_ my home, now_, she thought, blinking hard, _and I ought to make the best of it_.

Such a strange feeling it was, to undergo homesickness. She'd rarely felt that way in all her life, and when she had, it had been about so few places. Not many had been particularly hospitable toward her, and even if she had made it through the door to one of these new places, she had seldom felt welcomed once she made herself a home there. Natalie Fairbanks was a loner, plain and simple, and the lifestyle had grown on her over the years. Feeling that tinge of wistful regret at the thoughts she harbored of her life with the X-Men, she got the uncomfortable feeling that this place would never feel quite that way.

And why was she being so warmly accepted in this household, one that, as far as she could tell, prided itself on its ability to be brutally chary and hostile toward outsiders? Were they honestly just trying to admit one more maltreated mutant teenager into their ranks, or was she some sort of "I-told-you-so" directed against the X-Men, retaliation for Rogue's switch? Maybe it was neither, and they were just recruiting her to do exactly what Pietro had accused Xavier of doing, only in reverse: bringing Nat in as a decoy, or another drafted soldier in their angry little war. Any way she looked at it, she couldn't help but harbor doubts of her own.

Nat shook her head, irritated with herself. She pushed her thoughts aside and tried to concentrate on what she was seeing and what Pietro was saying.

The place wasn't a mansion, by any means, but it was pretty big anyway. Finances had unquestionably been put out to set this place up for its inhabitants, and she tried not to remember the faces of the people who had undoubtedly funded it. The walls of the kitchen were high and tiled in a pale blue color but they were slightly grimy with dust and cooking grease. A large window over the sink faced west. The sky was almost dark now, with the last traces of violet and salmon staining the clouds. Nat vaguely took note of the large breakfast table circled by chairs that were all reinforced to put up with Fred's considerable girth and weight. A thought donned on her that sent a smile creeping around her lips. She got the impression that someone had cleaned up a bit for her impending appearance.

Twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger, looking as cute and innocent as possible, she turned to Pietro and grinned. "You didn't clean up all by yourself just because you knew that I'd be coming, did you? For ickle ol' _me_? You shouldn't have!" She quipped as she batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion, trying not to laugh out loud.

The look of surprise on Pietro's face, and the delightful shade of pink that tinged his cheeks, made Nat want to throw herself a party to congratulate herself on her success at agitating him. _Ha! I gotcha!_ she thought, grinning to herself. Her companion grunted and rolled his angular shoulders, trying to look uninterested. He glanced away and pretended to examine the tie on the curtains. "Once again, Firecracker, my life doesn't revolve around you."

"_Sure_ it doesn't…"

_This is starting to be more fun than it probably should be_, Nat thought.

Pietro tossed his hands in the air to give the appearance that he was exasperated, but she could see the flustered expression on his face, and chortled at her success. He may have made her feel defeated and embarrassed, but _she_ could toy with his emotions. It was a little cruel, but it was still one of the best things about being female.

"Okay. What about my room?"

He nodded and left the kitchen, making his way toward a staircase against the wall of the living room. Toad was still cackling to himself, a little calmer now, and kept shooting furtive glances in their direction. Pietro continued to pay no heed to him. "Upstairs. I'll show you."

"Ooooh! Takin' New Girl to her bedroom, huh?" Toad waggled his thick brow, waving to the pair on the stairs. "Well, well, _well_! I suppose I should just wish you a good time, then." He lowered his voice, looking grave. "I'll make sure you ain't disturbed."

Nat felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, and bit her tongue to keep from audibly grinding her teeth together. She glanced over the railing and smiled nervously at the newly arrived Lance Alvers, who stared at her suspiciously as he tossed his coat onto a nearby chair. He stared at her without blinking, and she tried to smile as Pietro grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up the rest of the staircase. Pietro glared at his friend over the banister, hissing, "Shove it, Tolensky."

At the top of the stairs, he turned to "New Girl" and shrugged. "You're better off ignoring him as much as possible. Trust me. It's a skill you're going to have to master, and _quick_."

Nodding, Nat felt strangely close to laughing again. "Right. I think I can handle that."

She turned and glanced down a long, dim hallway, which had been black until Pietro flicked a nearby light switch. They didn't seem to spend much on lighting bills in this place. Small electric sconces adorned the walls between the doors, and cast a diffused light onto the dark carpeting, doing little to aid Nat's eyesight. The walls were high, like the ones downstairs had been, but there were no windows in the hall with the exception of a large skylight in front of a bathroom door. She could make out the tiny pinpricks of starlight here and there through the glass.

Pietro smirked, and Nat suddenly noticed that she'd been standing in the same spot at the top of the stairs for a good two minutes, staring down the dark corridor with Pietro's fingers still wrapped around her forearm. He rolled his eyes and continued to guide her down the hall. "It's a hallway, stupid, not the god damned Cave of Evil. Relax a little."

Nat shivered and followed him, coming to a stop in front of a door with slightly rusty hinges and squelching the eerie feeling that she had suddenly stumbled into some sort of haunted house at a Halloween fair. Nat bit her tongue and tried to convince herself that she was simply being oversensitive. After all, she was tired, dirty and it _was_ nighttime. Who knew what this place might look like after a bath, a good night's rest, and a few hours of sunshine coming through that skylight?

She glanced at the knob, where she saw a tiny monster face scribbled onto the metal surface, fashioned out of what looked like White Out. She stared at it with an eyebrow raised, and Pietro looked momentarily confused, then irritated when he noticed it. He sighed. He'd _meant_ to wash that off… 

The fair-haired mutant shrugged and said, "Here's your room. Mine's over there." He jerked his head toward a room with the door painted bright blue, but she ignored him, which seemed to make him fall silent in a less than happy sort of way. They stood there for a moment, and he was apparently waiting for her to open the bedroom door and go inside. When she decided to make him squirm a little by doing no such thing, and folding her arms across her chest instead, he mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Gritting his teeth a little, he tossed the door open triumphantly and turned on a switch just inside.

The room flooded with white, dazzling light, almost enough to make Nat's retinas pop after the strange dimness of the rest of the house. She shrieked and covered her eyes with her fingers, slapping at him with her free hand. "You jackass! Why didn't you warn me you'd had a freaking spotlight installed in the ceiling?"

Pietro smirked. "Sorry."

Still seeing multicolored blotches hovering throughout her vision, Nat scowled. "Uh_-huh_."

She glanced around the room. There was a small white-washed dresser and a desk, with a bed pushed up against the wall dressed in pale lavender bedding. Like everywhere else Pietro had shown her so far, it had obviously been cleaned up to distract from the presence of immoveable dust, and very recently to boot. The scent of fresh 409 and Windex still hovered in the air. To her surprise, she noted a remake of an old Beatles poster over the desk, and glanced at Pietro, who was averting his eyes again rather than making some snide remark.

Was it just her, or was he acting decisively less obnoxious than usual?

"You know, Flamethrower, you really reek."

Okay. Maybe not.

Nat glared at him, her hands perched as haughtily as possible on her hips. "Well, what do you expect? The last time _you_ were dropped off alone in a city that you didn't know, I bet you smelled like a bed of bloody roses after a few days without a shower, didn't you?"

"I'm not sure what _bloody_ roses smell like."

She glared some more. "I hate you."

He shrugged again, rolling his eyes and rubbing his hands together maniacally. He pointed to a small door on the other side of the bedroom. "Whatever. Just get your stinky ass in that bathroom and clean up. We're havin' important visitors later tonight."

Something froze within Nat's chest, and she felt peculiarly heavy. "Visitors? This late?"

A huge, sarcastic grin erupted on Pietro's face, and he clasped his hands together under his chin, pantomiming glee, before reaching out to pat the top of Nat's slightly dirty head. "Good _job_, Miss Keller! That's _exactly_ what I said!"

Biting her lip to keep from whimpering, she stared at him with eyes that managed to be widened with fear and narrowed with infuriation at the same time. She tried to ignore the prospect of company, especially if they were who she thought they might be. "You haven't yet started working on making me hate you less, I see."

With a nod of his head, Pietro disappeared down the hall, saying over his shoulder, "Just get ready to see Mystique. She'll be here in half an hour or so, and she'll be _so_ pleased to finally see you again." He paused, as if lost deep in thought, and glanced back at her. "As long as you don't still stink."

She slammed the door with enough force to awaken the White Out face, and stood alone on the inside, starting to feel slightly nauseated. This was undoubtedly going to be a very long night.


	41. Why is She Always Naked, Anyway?

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**Chapter Forty-One: Why is She Always Naked, Anyway?**

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She hadn't even been in the shower for a full ten minutes when a rapid banging on the bathroom door made her jump. The plastic shampoo bottle, slippery with suds and water, shot out of her hands and bounced off of the opposite wall, knocking down several other bottles and bars of soap. Cursing under her breath, she gathered the scattered items back up and dropped them haphazardly onto the side of the tub. Jasmine-scented lather was slowly seeping down her forehead and toward her eyes.

"_What_?!?" she bellowed, and it was more of a shout than a question as she tried to be heard over the streaming of water. She rushed to wipe away the offending bubbles, but managed only to get her face wet and hasten their ascent directly into her eyes. Unable to see, she stumbled back into the stream of water to rinse her hair and face, causing her feet to slip in the soap on the bottom of the tub, which almost sent her tumbling over the edge. She cursed again, more loudly this time. Just as she was finally able to coax the dinosaur-like plumbing in this place to give her a little hot water, _someone_ had to interrupt her shower. Of course.

The pounding stopped, and she thought she could hear someone chortling at her klutziness. She gritted her teeth to the point that they felt they might be wearing down.

After a short silence, a faintly amused voice answered from the other side, "You might want to hurry up and get done in there if you want to meet with Mystique tonight."

There was a long pause. Nat twiddled her soapy thumbs and kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, unsure of how to properly respond. "How about we…skip that part instead?"

She heard Pietro laugh. Damn. She hadn't been kidding. "Yeah, right. Hurry it up! You're even slower than most people, and from me that's definitely not a compliment."

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"

He banged on the door again, and the medicine cabinet over the sink rattled, sending the toothbrush holder falling to the tiles below. Nat sighed and rolled her eyes, stepping out onto the floor, which was wet from water that had leaked out of the tub as she bathed. In the bedroom, the carpeting was ancient and tatty, and in here it was done in broken, cream-colored tiles from the forties. The house might be large and faintly charming, in a vague sort of way, but it was desperately in need of repairs. Then again, it was probably a good eighty years old, and it _did_ house a group of teenaged boys, most of whom were unwilling to do as much as take out the trash unless extenuating circumstances, such as her appearance, convinced them that it might be a good idea. It housed the Brotherhood of Mutants, to be more exact. That was a pretty intimidating job for anything that wasn't completely indestructible.

Those things considered, it wasn't _too_ terrible.

Nat paused when she opened the bathroom door and steam poured into her bedroom, making transparent white coils of air around the door. It was weird, she thought, to be calling another place "hers". She glanced around the room again, trying to memorize all the parts of it. It looked as if it had been lived in before, and had a deeply worn look that hadn't been wiped away when Pietro cleaned up. The bedspread had once been a deep, almost-black shade of purple, but had been washed enough times that it was pale, like flowers, and the paint on the dresser was chipped here and there to reveal a much darker paint underneath. There were faint lines on the wall where posters had hung until very recently, and tiny holes in the plaster that were the telltale mark of thumbtacks.

Sighing, Nat flopped down on the bed, still wrapped tightly in a towel with her long hair dripping down her back. The window was open, and a cool, damp breeze came in to ruffle the curtains and raise goosebumps on her skin. She propped her elbow up on the edge of the desk with her chin in her palm, thinking.

Did they really expect her to easily accept this place as home? And why didn't she want to? There was, of course, that sense of relief that she wasn't out on her own anymore, and the sense of comfort in knowing that she was no longer required to suppress her annoyance with the world. Deep down, she wanted to do something about it, something that she never had the guts to do back in England, or had always felt too stifled to do with the X-Men. She wanted to go out and start a fight with the F.O.H., or torment some jerky kid she'd seen at school sporting anti-mutant patches on their backpack. She wanted to let out some pent-up aggression, now that it was allowed, but she knew she'd have her head smeared on the sidewalk in a second flat if she dared to even try it.

Even more than wanting to fight, she just wanted to fall into bed and sleep for about eighteen hours.

Nat eyed the window and approached it quietly, wondering how much of Bayville could be seen from here. There was a strange, nagging wish inside her that she might be able to spot the mansion, or maybe just Graymalkin Lane, although she wasn't holding out much hope. She tossed aside the curtains, which were now flapping madly in the breeze, and hoisted the window open the rest of the way. The rain hadn't started again, but the wind was getting stronger.

The sky was dark now, and the moon was large and almost full, like a slice of melted butter against the backdrop of the stars. Branches were whipping from side to side in the wind, and leaves were being torn from the trees. She shivered and tried to retighten her towel, which was coming loose around her body. Leaning out, she could see one of the tree-lined streets that led toward the school. She reached out and grabbed a few leaves off of the tree outside her window, drawing in the smell of early summer vegetation. Graduation preparations were probably already underway for the celebration a few weeks away. She sighed. No diploma for _her_ this year, at least not at this rate.

She leaned a little farther outward, her dark hair cascading around her face and puffing into a cloud that obscured her vision. She could taste the wet remains of the rain, and the damp plants that had been left behind, on the wind. Nothing would burn out there now, at least not unless the flame was exceptionally hot. The towel began to slip again, and she grabbed at it madly as the wind tried to do the same. It fluttered around her, threatening to be pulled away.

She didn't quite think of the possibility that the wind might be able to yank her towel out the window, and it didn't even cross her mind as she leaned out a bit farther. Then, before she had been able to put one and two together, she found herself standing in the window stark naked, her towel dancing on the breeze for a moment before it crumpled into a damp white lump on the ground below.

She blinked.

And blinked again.

"God damn it!"

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her that somehow hadn't before: she had nothing to change into.

Of course, she _could_ reapply the clothes that Pietro had given to her. The idea of putting on the dingy, filthy clothing over her freshly cleaned skin was rather revolting, however, and seemed to pretty much neutralize the act of cleaning herself at all. She stood in the center of the room, flapping her arms and making a nervous squeaking sound.

Spurred on by the new thought, and a new mission, Nat went to the closet and threw open the door in search. There was a long black winter coat that was several sizes too small for her, and a box of old car repair magazines on the floor, but nothing that might help her with her current situation. The only other option seemed to be wrapping the faded purple comforter around herself, but the idea of going down the stairs like that was enough to leave her light-headed with humiliation. Another swift rapping was heard at the door.

"Come on, Nat. We ain't got all night! If you don't get out here in ten minutes, I'm sending Tolensky in for you!"

"I _said_ I'm coming!" she shrieked, whirling frantically around. She was starting to get a bit nervous about this.

There! The dresser, of course! She raced over, throwing open drawer after drawer in search of something to wear. She found old newspapers lining each one, but nothing more than dust in any of them until she reached the one on the very bottom. Inside, she found a small note read "left these for you to wear," and underneath it were few things that might be of use to her, including a pair of ragged blue jeans that were a little too long in the legs. When she picked them up, she discovered a small shoebox that had been wrapped in the pants and inadvertently hidden from view. It looked as if it had been left untouched for a while. She dropped the box back in the drawer, tossed the jeans over her shoulder, and grappled among the other items, finally finding a black sweatshirt that looked like it might fit decently.

Something distantly familiar caught her eye just as she got her first leg into the jeans, and her curiosity barely let her finish zipping them up before she dropped onto her knees to stare at the shoebox a little more closely. A small drawing on the top of the shoebox, scribbled in dark red ink, depicted a cartoony figure of a girl. She was frowning viciously with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes had been colored in with bright red marker. There was a piece of duct tape slapped across the bottom that read "Keep Out or DIE!", and the corners were slightly dog-eared.

It was oddly familiar, somehow. It might have been the handwriting that jogged a memory, or perhaps the drawing itself. Whatever it was, Nat's interest was piqued. She rearranged herself on the floor, tucking her feet beneath her and lifting the box out of the drawer. The rest of the excavated clothing lay forgotten all around her.

She blew gently on the box to dislodge the fine layer of dust there, and lifted the lid. Inside, she found a few old magazine clippings about random topics, as well as a photograph or two of a brown-haired woman wearing dark glasses and carrying a cane with a painted tip. Nat pulled these away and gazed inside to see what was underneath them, nearly dropping the box in shock.

It was a pair of gloves. They were black, leather, and very familiar. A shaking that began at her toes quickly made its way up her spine, and she trembled all the way throughout her body. Her teeth chattered together and she nearly bit the tip of her tongue quite hard.

This had been _Rogue's_ room. That explained the dark paint under the whitewash on the furniture, and the eclectic wall decorations that had hung here until so recently. Her breath quickened. It was as if a ghost had made itself known to her, and hovered over the room in all its spectral glory.

She'd known that Rogue had been a member of the Brotherhood for a short time, but it was like being confronted with the fact pointblank. Now and then, when she'd been living at the mansion, she'd had the longing to ask her withdrawn friend about that enemy team, about what it had been like to be a component of Magneto's following. She'd never said anything, out of fear that it would give her interest away, or that Rogue would be somehow insulted. The betrayal was a touchy subject for the leather-clad goth.

Slowly, almost painfully, Nat lifted the gloves out of the box and trailed her hands gently over them. Her fingers tingled, warmed the leather, threatened to spark up again, and she fought the urge to slide them into the gloves. That, in some way, seemed almost sacrilegious, offensive. Had these ever been worn, or had she been keeping them here for when her others got too old to wear? No, they had certainly been worn, probably many times, as the slight wear on the knuckles and palms informed her.

Tears terrorized her eyes, teasing her. They wanted to fall, but she sniffed hard and wouldn't let them.

She hoped that Rogue was doing okay, that they all were. Maybe she was with Kurt at this very moment. She might be comforting him, not really saying anything but sitting there with him so he didn't feel alone, or they might be visiting the professor at the hospital. She hadn't heard anything else about her former teacher's condition. Maybe he had woken up. Maybe he hadn't.

Maybe he had died. Her throat hurt at the thought.

But, it was Kurt's condition that worried her the most. All she could do was pray that he wasn't too horribly upset, and that he was getting over her less painfully than she was getting over him. She sniffed again, slowly setting the gloves back inside their box and packing up the papers and photographs without looking at them again. In Nat's time at the institute, Rogue had never once offered to share her personal things, and it felt wrong to take advantage of the other girl's absence to do so.

"That's _it_! I said I'd do it!"

Another voice added quietly, "Heh."

Nat screeched as the door was tossed open. She'd forgotten all about Pietro's ten-minute warning, and was standing bare-chested in the middle of the bedroom with someone else's clothes scattered at her feet. Screaming shrilly and incomprehensibly, she looked hysterically around for the sweatshirt and tried to turn away from the two pairs of surprised eyes in the doorway, instead diving for the bed and scrambling to draw the covers over her. Slowly, a smile spread across Pietro's face, and Toad looked stunned only a few seconds longer than his friend did. Blushing bright scarlet, she pointed to the sweatshirt on the floor, a few meters away from her but right next to her two "guests".

"All _right_! She's a _great_ new recruit!" Toad said with an emphatic nod.

"Give me that shirt, Pietro!" She held one arm against herself, and pointed at the wad of black fabric on the rug.

The two boys paused for a moment that was entirely longer than it needed to be, but Pietro caught sight of her embarrassed expression and consented, tossing the sweatshirt into her arms. She yanked it over her head and glared at them both, now finally dressed. Toad glanced at her and gave her a wicked grin, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

"Get _out_, you creepy little freak!"

Pietro smirked, ignoring her blatant annoyance. "Why are you always naked when I run into you, Natalie Fairbanks?"

Toad grinned, smacking Pietro's shoulder. "If I didn't know better, I'd say she's tryin' to tell ya somethin'."

"I think you might be right…" He smiled perversely and winked at her.

"I said get _out_!"

Pietro glanced at Toad and jerked his head toward the door. Toad glanced back and forth between Nat's and Pietro's equally determined expressions and sighed, but couldn't help but grin as he left the other two standing alone in the bedroom. Nat glared at her companion.

"You suddenly don't think that I meant you too, White-Hair?"

He raised his hands defensively, eyes held wide even as he smirked. "Okay, okay! But you might want to hurry up and get downstairs. Mystique'll be here soon."

"Go _away_!"

Still beaming, he backed up quickly and raced from the room in a flash of super-speeded color, looking amused. When the door clicked shut behind him, Nat dropped onto the bed and buried her face in her hands, trying to muffle a frustrated scream in her palms.

She heard the door open again, and glanced up angrily to see Freddy standing there, his incredible size effectively blocking off her view of the hallway. She blushed and sat up, coming to the door to shyly welcome him. The two had never formally met, and Nat was lost between the embarrassment of the moment before and her desire to make a good start with her new "family".

"Hi," she said softly, holding out her hand. His immense one enveloped hers, and shook it strongly.

"Hi to you, too, I guess," he responded, giving her a peculiar, tipped-over kind of look.

She let him stare at her oddly for a moment, feeling more and more self-conscious as he did so, and she blushed again. She glanced down at her clothes, looking for some sort of oddly-placed stain or something of that sort, half expecting to find that she'd put the pants on backward.

"So…" She trailed off, waiting for him to explain what exactly he was looking at, or at least to knock off the disturbing staring thing. She bounced a little on her toes, anxiously.

He frowned and continued to stare at her assessingly. "You don't look so naked to me."

For the second time that evening, but no less insistently this time, the newest member of the Brotherhood of Mutants slammed the door in the face of one of her teammates.

And felt good doing it, too.


	42. Photographs, Nostalgia and Words of Sage...

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**Chapter Forty-Two: Photographs, Nostalgia and Words of Sage Advice**

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The hallway was silent and shadowy at night, with none of the hall lights turned on. The heavily polished banister gleamed as the moon cast a shine into the house through the windows, and a few faint lines of artificial light could be seen from underneath the doors, but the blackness was otherwise unbroken.

Dark didn't bother Kurt Wagner. Really, it seemed to swallow him gently, to consume his body and become a part of him, making him indistinguishable from the inky gloom. Glancing around, he could see that the lights were on in Rogue's and Evan's bedrooms, but the others were either asleep or out doing something else. Scott, of course, was still at the hospital, watching over the professor.

There had been no recent news of a change in Xavier's condition, except for a rather encouraging report a day or so earlier that he was slowly regaining a more normal tone to his brainwave patterns. Jean had been keeping tabs on Xavier as well, trying now and again to break into his mind telepathically, but so far with no success. Moira and Hank, ever the scientists, and good friends of Xavier's, were working diligently on their own data, trying to determine just what it had been that had led the professor into his current state.

As if to break him away from the potentially troubling thoughts, his stomach gurgled again, and he tried not to grin at the unexpected sound in the quiet of the corridor. Skipping several meals a day could do that to a guy, especially a guy who practically had the metabolism of a hummingbird. Golden eyes glowing faintly, he found the stairway without a moment of hesitation, aided by familiarity and his own personal stealth, and started to make his way down. There was probably still some cold chicken or something left from dinner. His tail flicked in eager anticipation.

A whisper from behind derailed his train of thought, as tenuous as was. "Psst! Hey, Kurt!"

He turned around quickly, surprised that someone had been able to see him in the dark, all the while keeping his hand on the smooth handrail. Evan was standing in his doorway, barefoot and wearing a baggy white T-shirt over his pajama bottoms. He looked tired, but was grinning nonetheless.

Kurt smiled warily and whispered back, "_Ja_?"

Evan frowned, looking nervously down at his feet. Kurt inwardly sighed, but relaxed when the younger X-Man frowned and shook his head, ducking back into his bedroom while quietly uttering, "Never mind."

Once again alone in the darkened corridor, the blue mutant shrugged and made his way the rest of the way down the stairs and toward the kitchen. There, he found the door open, and could make out the dim shape of a female sitting slumped at the breakfast island. She looked devastatingly tired, and dark pits beneath her eyes highlighted her cheeks. Her auburn hair looked oddly silver in the faint light from over the stove, and she was cradling a cup of coffee that had long since grown cold and undrinkable. She sat with her eyelids closed behind the rims of her glasses, as if she were asleep on her stool.

He paused, watching Moira silently sip her unpleasant drink, trying not to make himself known. Urges warred within him. Part of him wanted to go into the kitchen and smile politely, grab something from the refrigerator and disappear back up to his room to eat, think and sleep. Another part of him wanted to simply forget about it and slink back to bed, hungry but uninterrupted from the flow of his thoughts. Yet another part, a slightly bigger part perhaps, told him that he should sit down and talk with her.

Perhaps he paused a moment too long to make a getaway, or perhaps he meant it that way. Clearly, she could not have heard him approach, and it took her a moment of close examination of the doorway to make out his faint outline. Moira set her mug aside and smiled, and he noticed for the first time that she had thin smile lines around her lips, tiny marks of a youth that had mostly gone by.

Kurt smiled back, a little awkwardly. "Mind if I join you?"

The doctor shook her head and chuckled softly, pulling out a stool beside her. "Not at all, Kurt. Would nae mind a bit o' comp'ny about now. Is this house…always so quiet at night?"

Laughing a little, he slid onto the stool beside her, taking the slice of slightly burnt toast that she offered him. "_Nein_, not alvays. But it's a school night, and…vell," he paused long enough to shrug and take a bite of the toast, "there's been a lot going on lately. I guess ve're tired."

Moira nodded, the shadows returning to her face, and she gazed down at the tabletop, which was strewn with newspapers and document folders that she had been picking through. "Aye. I see how tha' must be f'r this household, all bein' so young." She slowly ran her thumb across the handle of her cup, feeling the porcelain against her skin, and glanced at him sideways. "Our resident former trapeze artist most of all, I suppose."

He might have blushed, but instead just shook his head emphatically. "_Nein_, that's Scott, for sure. He's going insane over this."

"He'll be alright, lad. I'm quite sure."

There was a moment of silence. "Do you mean Scott…or our _Lehrer_?"

A pained look crossed her light-skinned face, and she glanced away, biting her tongue to keep from blurting things out too quickly. A crease formed on her forehead and she dipped her gaze downward. "Lad, I…I'm nae positive what I meant. Wish I could be, I swear, but tha' joost is nae the way."

He eyed her gently frowning brow, the slight plunge of her chin, and decided to try to change the course the conversation was taking. He smiled, nodding his head at the stack of documents scattered around her. "Vy are you drinking coffee so late at night? And vy all the papers?" He made a grab for the nearest stack, carefully reaching around the manila folders. "Can I have the funnies?"

Moira laughed loudly, making her dark auburn curls shake around her shoulders, but it wasn't a particularly humorous sound. "Research. Sometimes I work best durin' the night. An' take the damn things…worthless, is what they are."

Grinning, he snatched the Sunday paper and shook it open. To his surprise, another folder, this one more worn and dog-eared than the rest, had been tucked inside, and its contents spilled onto the floor at his feet. Moira looked surprised, then embarrassed, and she dropped to her knees on the tile to pick it up. Kurt did the same, and she averted her eyes as his hand landed on a single ragged sheet of semi-glossy paper.

Shock flooded throughout his body when he turned it over, and he felt slightly cold. Two vaguely familiar faces gazed back at him, both looking extremely happy. They were young and vital, and the bright deluge of joy had apparently overcome them at the perfect time in their lives. They wore the sheen of love, but even more potent was the friendship that radiated from the decades-old paper scrap. Their hands were intertwined, with his fingertips laid gently upon her chin to lift her gaze closer to his so her ginger-colored hair tumbled around her throat. But even at his young age, he was glowingly, blatantly bald. Of course he was. It was the result of his powerful telepathic mutation.

Kurt's mouth went slightly dry. He'd known that the professor and Moira had been friends for many years, but the photograph seemed to bring much more to light than either of the doctors ever had. Moira snatched the photo away and slipped it back into the folder, dropping back into her seat with a sigh. Her head collapsed into her hands, exhausted.

"Shocker, eh?" She paused, her voice wavering a little. "Tha' was th' day Charley proposed t' me."

"Dr. MacTaggart…Moira…" He slowly sat back down beside her, unblinking. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

She nodded quickly, waving her hand in the air to dismiss his self-conscious apologies. "Aye, well, 'tis nae ye're fault. I know Charles is nae the kind o' man to share much about his past. He never has been. Could nae expect ye t' know unless ye spoke to Scott or Jean. Besides, 'tis nothin' to be sorry about anyway. We were an item, sure enough, but that was a long time ago."

He sat silently, staring at the side of her immobile face. It might have been best for him to leave at that point, and let Moira alone with her grief, but the urge didn't seem to cross his mind. It didn't seem right. Instead, he propped his chin up on his hand, his elbow resting on the edge of the island.

Kurt let the silence sit between them, more tranquil than awkward. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the act of asking, but painfully curious. "How did you meet?"

She glanced up at him, frowning again, in confusion this time. Her expression softened when she registered what he was asking, and she slowly lifted herself back up again, so she was seated straight-backed on her stool. She stirred her black coffee with the tip of her finger, suddenly aware that it had cooled considerably. "We went t' school together, years ago. Oxford. An' we've been friends ever since." She sighed, and a gentle smile tugging on the corners of her lips had stolen away much of her appearance of exhaustion. "He and I were…quite close."

He smiled, watching her dreamy expression and trying to quell the ache in his own belly. "Ven did you know?"

"Know?"

"That the two of you vere…"

"That we were in love?" Her lips stretched into a smile that was a little wider, her eyes becoming distant. "I think I might hae known since th' beginning, Kurt." She looked away, her expression slightly pained. "Even when things were hard, an' we were nae on the best o' terms, I could always count on Charlie to be there f'r me."

"He's alvays been that vay, then." He bit his bottom lip, his brow puckering slightly. "So…things didn't…go the vay that you hoped they vould?"

Rolling her eyes, Moira chuckled again, and Kurt went along with her. "Do they ever?"

"_Nein_. _Nein_, I guess they don't." He shrugged. "Not around here, at least."

With a bright, sudden yelp of laughter, Moira slapped at the young man's shoulder. "Tha' is the most truthful thing I've heard in days, lad." She sipped her coffee again, slowly, and eyed him oddly. "There's no way of tellin' when things are goin' th' way they should. Sometimes, ye joost hae to…trust."

He broke the pattern of speech again, muttering something in German under his breath that Moira didn't catch. He rose his eyes to meet hers again, looking somewhere between desperate and unwilling to hear another word. "Are ve still talking about you and the professor?"

"Could be," she added with a wink, taking a sip and turning her attention back to the papers, as if she were trying to end the conversation on a mysterious note. "All I know is tha' we've got t' hae faith with those tha' we love. Otherwise, what would be th' point in lovin' someone?"

The mutant teenager licked his lips, scowling down at his hands in thought. "You don't think she did it, then?"

A flash of something that couldn't quite be called anger burst in the doctor's eyes, and she stood suddenly, using the excuse of rinsing her cup out in the sink before returning slowly to her seat, but she didn't sit down. Instead, she stood beside him, wringing her hands on a dish towel to dry them of the water droplets, and perhaps to wipe them clean of something else, too. "I didnae say tha', Kurt. Believe me, I wish with all me heart tha' I could believe that Natty hae nothin' t' do with what happened that night, but I honestly cannae be sure. If she _did_ do it, there's a part o' me tha' is very angry with her, about that I will nae lie," she caught sight of his pained expression and paused, smiling tightly, "but I cannae help but doubt it, myself. Still, I joost don't know."

He glanced at her, his eyes meeting hers with an almost startling conviction flashing in them. They gave off a yellow brightness that glowed eerily in the darkness of the kitchen, and Moira shivered unconsciously. He was such a frightening looking boy, but with such a strange beauty, too. Kurt nodded, his jaw set. "I don't think she did it, either. I don't know vy, but I just don't think she could _do_ something like that. Not after…"

"After how close the two o' ye were, lad?"

Glancing away sadly, he nodded. "_Ja_."

Shaking her head, she noted absently that her hand had curled into a tight fist, and was trembling slightly. She pulled it beneath the top of the island, but not so soon that Kurt didn't notice it. She nodded slowly, sadly. "I betrayed him, too, Kurt. An' we moved on."

He blinked, his attention squarely on Moira. "_Was_? Vat…vat do you mean?"

Tears glimmered faintly in her eyes. "Sometimes, things work out differently than we hope they will. When Charlie went off t' fight th' good fight, I could nae wait f'r him. I had t' go on with me life, and tha' meant movin' on without him, f'r better or worse."

He watched her closely, trying to decipher the odd expression on her face. "I can't 'move on', Moira. She vas more than a teammate to me, und vether or not she had a part in vat happened to the prof, vile you and I seem to be the only vuns who even _begin_ to disbelieve it, I'm _not_ going to abandon her. Besides, she hasn't exactly gone off to 'fight the good fight'."

"Maybe we do nae think so, but _she might." Sighing, Moira shook her head quickly, bringing her hand up from under the island to firmly grasp Kurt's. "This is nae about whether she did it, Kurt. It's about whether _you_ can move on. Even if she _is_ innocent, she is nae here, and you need to be able to accept it."_

Her hand felt warm and delicate around his larger one, but surprisingly strong. He pulled his fingers away anyway, and stuffed them angrily into his pockets. This _wasn't_ what he had wanted to talk about. "So, _was_ _ist_ next, then? Forgive and forget? _Das__ ist nicht_...not possible, Moira."

"Because ye cannae forget her, or because ye cannae forgive her?"

"I'm not _supposed_ to forgive her, not matter how much I vant to! I'm surrounded by people that think she tried to kill the prof. You know her as vell as anyvun, except maybe me, and even _you_ think she _may_ have done it." He slumped down on the stool, his head resting lightly on the back. His tail twitched viciously in the air.

"I do nae know one way or the other, Kurt. Only she and Charles do, and neither o' them are talkin', are they?"

He sighed. "I guess not," he mumbled. "Still, I can't move on…not just yet."

Moira patted his shoulder gently, smiling sadly down at him. "I understand, Kurt. Really I do." She got to her feet, cracking her spine and yawning widely as she did so. "Now, I think we'd both be better off with a bit o' sleep. We can talk again in th' mornin', if ye want."

"_Nein_, _bitte_. I think I'm done talking for a vile."

She nodded slowly, understanding far more than what he spoke out loud. There was a moment of stillness as the two stood, pondering, before Moira MacTaggart turned on her heel and disappeared into the dark hallway, leaving Kurt alone with his thoughts.


	43. Advancements Thorns

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"Advance, and do not fear the thorns in the path, for they draw only corrupt blood."   
-_Kahlil__ Gibran_

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**Chapter Forty-Three: Advancement's Thorns**

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Nat entered the living room as if she were a child waking early on Christmas with the glittering tree set up just a few yards away, but without the lingering feeling of excitement. She took tiny footsteps and tried to keep her heart from pounding out through her ribs. Her hands tingled and her head felt slightly hot, but it was no longer a painful sensation that made promises of pain and the inability to restrain it. It felt like she was blushing all over, a small, almost comforting heat that radiated outward and spread across her body. She ignored it and focused on the situation she was facing, feeling her heart steady a bit.

Pietro stood beside her, and despite her embarrassment about the events a few minutes before, his nearby presence was undeniably reassuring. For some reason, so was that of Fred in the next room. Even Lance and Todd, as they sat companionably on the couch and switched rapidly through the channels, were a dose of reality. They were still whole and seemed relatively undamaged…

_If they have all lasted this long as members of the Brotherhood, with that blue-skinned super-bitch at their heels, maybe I _won't_ be stabbed through the gullet and thrown to the lions_, Nat pondered thoughtfully. _Or maybe she just _likes_ them…_

The young men were not the focus of her attention, however, and she felt her eyes widen as she slowly opened the door. Mystique, no longer in the shape of the dark-eyed brunette that ran Bayville High School, stood by the open window with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. She was dressed in a form-fitting white outfit, which contrasted sharply with her vividly turquoise coloring and red hair, and Nat found herself marveling at the exotic strangeness of this startling woman.

She looked a lot like her son, Nat realized with a jolt, unintentionally biting her tongue against the shock of it. They were slightly differing shades of blue, but blue _is_ blue, and it's a pretty rare physical characteristic. Both were thin and possessed a disturbing strength and agility in their sinewy musculature. Even the same oddly pale and familiar eyes, although a different color, trained on Nat when Raven Darkholme turned to face her newest recruit. The older woman smiled, but her smooth brow was lowered, her gaze intense. This was not a social call.

Nat swallowed hard, swallowing the desire to flee in terror. The burning on her skin intensified and she started to shiver, but she knew that she was in control. There would be no accidents tonight. She felt a sharp jab as Pietro's elbow connected with her side, and she suppressed a yelp and stepped forward awkwardly, putting out her hand.

"P-pleasure to see you again, Ms. Darkholme."

There was no reaction from the red-head for a long time, but when one came it was like a bucket of cold water, and somewhat unwelcoming. Mystique laughed, tossing back her flaming locks, and half frowned, half grinned at the younger woman. She took Nat's hand, and her long, thin fingers wrapped around the girl's wrist with unexpected vigor, shaking the hand quickly, sharply, with just one little flick.

"I'm sure it is, Natalie," she said frostily. Something about her tone told Nat that, for some reason, this woman did _not_ like her very much.

Mystique shot a glare at the two boys on the couch, now bickering over whether to watch professional wrestling (Lance) or a talk show about strippers with over-the-top breast implants (Todd), and she reached out to snatch the remote from the shorter boy's grasp. She crossed her arms over her chest, the remote just out of Todd's reach.

"Hey! I was watchin' somethin'!" he shouted, but his anger seemed to wither when he saw the unyielding expression on his superior's face. He stuck out his chin like a dejected child, leaping off of the couch with stunning nimbleness and storming away with his arms crossed, swearing under his breath. Lance waited a little longer, even kicking up his feet and propping them on the edge of the coffee table. Apparently, he was trying to make some sort of point. He paused, thinking about it for a moment, then caught a glimpse of Mystique's expression and quickly followed Todd out of the room.

Next to Nat, Pietro smiled and turned to Mystique, trying boldly to insert himself into the swiftly wilting conversation. He perched his hands on his hips and cocked his head so he could make eye contact with Mystique but still see Nat in his peripheral vision. "I was under the impression that Magnus would be coming along with you, Miz Darkholme. So where is he?"

"That's really none of your concern, is it?" Raven said blandly, not taking her gaze off of Nat the entire time.

Pietro went on, disregarding Mystique's brusque attitude, although a brief pause flaunted his embarrassment at being so carelessly ignored in front of his guest. "Nat's been here for a few hours now, and I gave her the main go-around. But I left the important stuff to you, so I guess the _real_ tour hasn't started yet."

The twin looks that Pietro received could have frozen hell, Mystique's sharp and cruel and Nat's slightly confused. Ms. Darkholme's tone was equally and obscurely glacial. "_Did_ you, Maximoff? Well, that's a first, but it certainly _is_ comforting." She waved her hand in the direction that the others had taken out of the room, still glaring. "Go with them. I need to speak with Miss Fairbanks _alone_."

Nat gulped, surprised to hear herself and new teammate being addressed by their last names. It seemed so…impersonal. She glanced at Pietro's face, which was momentarily screwed up in stark annoyance, and felt herself becoming terribly nervous. Maybe Mystique _didn't_ like them. When he turned to leave, she reached out to grab his elbow before remembering how silly it must make her look, and let her hand drop limply to her side instead. This wasn't the time to look like a baby. If there was any way to impress Darkholme, she doubted that looking fragile or frightened would be very effective.

The red-headed woman watched as Pietro left, and she stalked over to the door through which they had all left, moving to close it. Just before the door met the jamb, Todd stuck his head through and grinned up at his "teacher", nodding happily. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"What _now_, Tolensky?"

He grinned wider, his eyebrows raising happily. "Good call on the fiery chick, Miz M. She's better than any o' these jokers." He turned to leave, and Nat heard him say to Lance, a little quieter but not quiet enough, "I saw her boobs, yo!"

Mystique turned slowly around with a questioning look on her face, one thin eyebrow arching upward toward her hairline. Nat's face instantly colored, her eyes going so wide that they began to water, and she tried to look away. Mystique let out a little exhalation and stared at her newest charge. "Well. You've already become well acquainted with the others, then."

Nat nodded, trying to salvage what was left of her dignity by not quite meeting Mystique's vaguely amused expression. "Y-yes ma'am." Her teeth were clenched so hard that it hurt.

There was a long moment of silence. "I don't think I have to tell you that you _are_ expected to keep your clothes on, most of the time."

A painful heat was creeping up around Nat's ears, but it was the mere burn of embarrassment rather than something more insidious. "No, ma'am. You don't have to tell me. Well, not _again_, I guess." Her mild attempt at humor failed miserably, going instantly belly-up in the already murky sea of her humiliation that was apparently intent on making its way through this entire house.

Now that the lights were turned up and Nat could see it better, the room _looked_ like a group of teenaged boys lived in it, without a dried flower or crocheted throw in the place. There was an overstuffed couch, a couple of matching easy chairs, a low coffee table and an entertainment center that boasted a modest supply of possibly-stolen electronics, but not much attention had been paid to the décor itself. It was a comfortable room that fulfilled its purpose, but it was clear that Mystique, or any other females, spent little time here.

Mystique nodded slowly, watching Nat as the younger girl made her random appraisal of the living area. "I suppose I should welcome you to the Brotherhood of Mutants and all of that, now that you'll be with us for a while. You will, won't you?"

Nat rubbed her hands on the backs of her jeans, wiping the tiny bit of sweat from her palms and trying to subdue the tickly itch that was spreading up to her elbows. Now, it was more of a matter of discomfort than some form of impending danger. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much for letting me stay here. I, uh…really needed a place."

"I heard," Mystique said, sounding bored, as she took a seat on the edge of the magazine-littered tan sofa. "He's still in the hospital, if you'd like to know." Recognition played across Nat's features and her spine quivered, her knees wanting to hold her up any more, but she straightened herself and refused to let her chin drop. Mystique watched her closely, looking vaguely pleased with her reaction.

Nat slowly lowered herself into one of the chairs, not waiting to be invited but not quite trusting her legs to hold her up much longer. Her chin was high and her gazed remained fixed on Raven's own. She had begun to tremble ever so slightly and her stomach felt as if gravity had fleetingly abandoned it, the sensation of being on an elevator that is going far too quickly, perhaps even dropping without the aid of cables.

"Is he…I mean, he's going to be alright, isn't he?" Her voice sounded tight and throaty even to her own ears.

Raven's odd blue-gray eyes narrowed minutely. "Why does it matter now? They won't press charges. Not if they're smart. They're completely aware that you know what's going on at that institute of theirs, considering that you were a _student_."

Nat swallowed. "I…well, I mean, I don't want him to…you know…because of me."

"Of course. You're a moral being at the core, I suppose." She said this almost bitterly, and Nat just nodded, temporarily unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

"Um…yeah," Nat finally sputtered. There was a long pause, a palpable discomfort growing in the room between them. "Did…didn't you want to talk to me about something? I mean, it's getting sort of late—"

"I was getting to that, of course," Raven interjected, her words clipped and sharp. She leaned forward and gracelessly flicked a half-empty glass of room-temperature milk off of the table, scowling in apparent disgust at her charges' lack of housekeeping skills as it splashed across the carpet. Nat cringed when a sour-sweet odor pervaded her nostrils.

Raven twined her fingers together, resting her elbows on her knees casually but wearing an expression that was all business, her eyebrows knitting together. "You have to remember that you are going to have to _make_ yourself wanted here. We can't have potentially dangerous mutants running around that haven't proven themselves to have at least _some_ sort of dedication to the team. This isn't a youth hostel."

A cold chill ran through Nat's middle, and she felt oddly lightweight, as if her head were about to float away on a string like some horribly demented balloon. Her eyes lowered of their own accord, like a toddler being chastised or a puppy caught playing in the garbage can. "Of…course, ma'am. I understand."

Mystique rose, walking slowly to the fireplace and running a finger disgustedly across the dusty mantelpiece. She paused for a long moment, not looking at the younger mutant or even acknowledging her presence. An anomalous sense of calm settled over the room, before it was bitten through by another sharp bite from the long-limbed changeling.

"How do you suppose you can make yourself as _welcome_ as possible here?" she asked, not bothering to turn and face the object of her interrogation.

Nat's throat was drier than ever, and a small crimp was forming at the base of her spine from sitting too rigidly. "I…I don't know…I guess I could take my clothes off some more." She grinned half-heartedly, the words falling past her lips before she could stop them. Her cheeks colored hotly but she was unable to quell the raging smile that was suddenly so eager to show itself. Giggles erupted from her at the pure, unjust idiocy of her own unthinking mind, and Mystique spun around, her brow creased in irritation. Nat tried to stop chortling, making an odd burbling sound instead as she choked slightly on her own tongue.

"Yes, well, I don't think that's quite what I was thinking," the shape-shifter said acidly.

Shaking with the effort to breathe and keep her laughter inside at the same time, Nat nodded again, feeling her lip quiver with the need to smile. "Yeah…sorry…kidding."

"Indeed." 

Another awkward silence descended. "Um…is there something in particular that you had in mind, ma'am?"

"It's not my place to say, at the moment. But I must ask you: are you prepared to use your abilities, whatever that may come to entail in the future, to ensure the betterment of the Brotherhood of Mutants?"

It sounded phony, rehearsed, and Nat tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that this must be something that was asked of all the new recruits. Her insides remained a quivering mess, a gelatinous knot of confusion and barely-veiled anxiety. She licked her lips, finding them hot and dry. "Yes. Yes, of course I am."

_Not like I have much choice, eh_? she thought bitterly to herself, trying not to let the thought show through her features.

Mystique's face was still, her eyes narrowed assessingly and trained on Nat's face. Nat swallowed hard, almost positive that her inner doubts were surfacing in her outward appearance, and afraid that Mystique would notice. Slowly, and to Nat's relief, a broad smile spread across her new superior's lips, bearing straight white teeth that were frighteningly reminiscent of a wolf or a haunted house clown.

Raven rose to her feet again, glancing at her watch and making an irritated huffing sound. "Excellent. Now, I'm sure that you're ready to return to school in the morning?"

Surprised, Nat rose as well, approaching Darkholme with her hands outspread, feeling shocked and suddenly terrified. "No! No, I can't! It's too soon, and what if they see me?"

"_See_ you?" Raven chuckled softly, a hard sound that was distinctly humorless. "What will they do, call the police? Like I said, there's no way that they would be so foolish. You know far too much about them for them to make such an imprudent mistake. And with Xavier out of the way…excuse me, with Xavier _unavailable_, there's no way for them to alter your memories of the institute and all the goings-on there."

There was a strange and bitter taste on Nat's dry tongue, like the juice from the stem of a dandelion, swallowed during the aftermath of a childish prank. She watched the shape-shifter closely as her vision seemed to block out everything else, unsure of how to react to such a blunt statement, her body still wracking with fear at the prospect of returning so soon to Bayville High. The fret was etched quite frankly in her wide green eyes and the pale hue of her cheek, at which Ms. Darkholme sneered quite openly.

"Oh, what is it now, you infantile thing?" With a roll of her watery eyes that seemed to pin the dark-haired girl against the nearby wall, Raven's thin arms were laid across her chest in a display of open annoyance and her pointed chin thrust outward as if to stab the air. Her words were carved in Nat's brain, a sign of distaste, a deliberate show of disgusted authority.

"I…I can't go back just yet! I mean, they'll all be there and…and—"

"And what, they'll try to _talk_ to you? Those adolescent pacifists aren't likely to try anything any more dangerous than that, especially if Maximoff is wagging along behind you like your little lapdog the way he seems to be."

A blush again colored Nat's face and throat, but she tried to ignore it to face the more immediate problem rather than submitting to her own embarrassment. She swallowed, trying not to let tears break through her stern grasp on placidity, and nodded slowly and stiffly, like a frightful marionette. "I…can be ready in the morning, ma'am."

A sharp nod preceded a brief and unfriendly smile, showing that something had finally been accomplished. "See to it that you are. I have a reputation, Little One, and I won't have it tainted with some dirty rumor that I run an undisciplined household." Mystique dusted her front as if to dislodge some sheen of sweaty grime attached to her from entering this abode, and began heading for the front door, pausing for a moment with her hand on the knob. "And, Miss Fairbanks?"

Nat bit her tongue and pressed her aching hands against her ribs, squeezing her body inward as much as she could without imploding. "Y-yes?"

"You'll be having another guest tomorrow afternoon, so I'll be calling you to my office at the school." Mystique smiled enigmatically at Nat's apprehensive expression. "You are to be sufficiently prepared." With that, she left before uttering another word, ignoring the quiet, tremulous sounds of stifled whimpering as the door slipped shut behind her.

A long moment of silence greeted the panicky girl, who dropped again into the nearest seat, unable to remain upright under her own power, her head in her hands with her hair splayed around her face like a dark curtain against the world. Nat Fairbanks listened to the quiet night, devoid of almost any sound, and tried not to let her emotions get the better of her. She caught the muffled clicking of the lock as it shifted into place, the faint sounds of her new teammates moving about in the next room, and the distant chirping of late spring crickets courting one another outside the house.

Above it all, like a snare drum echoing in the midnight air, was the painful thudding of her own anxious heart.


	44. Though I am Far Away

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"Ama me fideliter! / Fidem meam noto:

De corde totaliter / Et ex mente tota,   
Sum presentialiter / Absens in remota."   
_-"Omnia Sol Temperat", from "Carmina Burana"_

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**Chapter Forty-Four: Though I am Far Away**

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So, he liked her. Was that so bad?

Growling low in his throat and pressing his fingertips to his eyelids, Pietro tossed a few low-hanging strands of snow-white hair off of his forehead and tried to remember how long he'd been trying to fall asleep. At least two hours, he figured, possibly three, but he dared not glance at his alarm clock out of fear that he would prove himself correct and lay there pissed off about it.

Over the past few hours, however many there had actually been, Pietro had wavered back and forth between several emotions. Actually, he'd only been _attached to one emotion, but his targets had been varying throughout the night, which is essentially the same thing._

First, he'd been angry at Mystique for not letting him remain in on the conversation that she shared with Nat. It was as much his business as theirs, the way he figured it. Then, for a few minutes, he'd been angry at Mystique for making Nat feel bad, because whatever she had said had led the girl directly to her room, trying not to cry. Third, he was a little mad at Nat herself for not coming up to him and telling him what was going on. After all, _he_ had been the one to bring her here so she wouldn't have to sleep on the riverfront again tonight. Finally, after a great deal of deliberation, he settled on a mixture of unvented, unfocused frustration that was blowing up in his face with alarming speed.

And why the hell hadn't Magneto come? The old man had made such an enormous deal over this, and he didn't even have the decency to show up?

On top of it all, for the first time in the weeks that he'd been thinking about her, Natalie Fairbanks was mere meters away, separated from him only by a few layers of drywall, a dresser or two, some blankets on a bed, and her nightgown…

_Hmmm…her nightgown…_

Groaning, Pietro burrowed his head underneath his pillow to muffle his own sounds of rage.

A small noise from the hallway caught his attention, and he recognized the faint squeak of a familiar doorknob. His heart thudded slightly, and he tossed his covers away in his eagerness.

So, instead of lying back down and attempting to catch a few winks before his alarm clock went off for school, Pietro got out of bed and went to his closet to pick out his outfit for the day. He hastily pulled out the closest items he could find so he could catch Nat before she disappeared back into her room, and he dressed in three seconds flat.

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Dreaming again. It took him a moment to figure it out, but when he realized how perfect it was, there was no way that this was reality. She was too relaxed beside him, and that nagging ribbon of doubt was no longer tickling at him behind his ribs, that fear that one of the others would come in and catch the two of them in a compromising situation.

That was when he saw the fallacy in his own mental imagery. She looked the way she should, and her voice was the same, but when he tried to reach out, she slipped through his fingers like mist, insubstantial and pale, like Shadowcat in mid-phase, although even his sleepy mind knew that wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

Then, the flames would start again, licking up around their ankles, and the wide green eyes would turn away from him and onto another figure in the distance, white-haired and pale. She would rise from her spot beside him, leaving his three-fingered hand hanging empty in the air, and she would be gone from his sight before she passed all the way through the flames.

But as she walked away, he thought he heard her crying, and the sound was like his heart being torn from him, his only existence suddenly found to be a lie, a terrible amalgamation of everything that was wrong in the universe bursting free with a cataclysmic bang. Her tears were the end of his world.

A scream tried to tear itself from him, to wrench free of his body and make itself known, so he could, if God were smiling on him, possibly stop her and keep her near him, and away from the pale figure outside her flames. And the scream woke him up.

Just dreaming.

Dreaming again.

_Again_.

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No matter how hard she strained her eyes Nat couldn't quite make out the face of the person beside her, his hands looped gently around her waist. She felt his lips, his breath upon her throat, but still couldn't quite make out the line of his chin or the shadow of his nose.

She could see his eyes, however, and they glowed like golden lamps near her face, lighting the night and soothing away her fears. So, with a sob of regret and relief, she let herself fall back against him, and he pulled her gently closer so she could go on whispering soft entreaties and apologies into the crook of his warm-skinned neck.

With a gasp for air and a muttered curse with the realization that she had been dreaming, Nat sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and her hair a halo-like puff around her face. She sighed softly and swore again, dropping back onto the pillows and propping up her head on her hands. Across the room, the face of the digital clock told her in glowing red numbers that it was shortly after three, and she tried to force her sleep-addled brain to recall exactly when she had fallen asleep.

Mystique had left around midnight, and Nat had gone directly back upstairs, too rattled by the encounter to face anyone, especially Pietro. Somehow, she knew how _that_ would end up, and it just didn't seem like a good idea at the time. The tears had started to dry up a little later, and her breathing had returned to normal shortly after that. When she gave it enough thought, the entire conversation between herself and Ms. Darkholme had left her flustered and more than a little panicky. Then again, such a reaction was hardly a rarity for her.

So, she was a bit emotional. It wasn't as if she had no cause to be. _Wouldn't anyone be this way, in my situation_? she often asked herself, although she was never entirely able to convince herself that this was the case. Maybe her emotional state was just one more reason that Nat Fairbanks was labeled a freak.

_And the list continues to grow_…she thought with a sigh.

Despite her reservations about lodging with the people that were, just days ago, pretty much considered her enemies, she couldn't entirely smother the sense of gratitude that was blossoming in her breast. She had been more or less accepted into the home of the Brotherhood, and given a place among them, even if that position was rather tenuous at the moment. The desire to make herself wanted was almost excruciating in its intensity, as was the dread that she would become a burden to those that had taken her in, something that she felt she had done far too recently as it was.

The crickets had ceased their quiet chirping, but she rose from bed and pattered across the floor to open the window again, leaning out and spying the crumpled lump of white terrycloth that she had neglected to retrieve before lying down to sleep. A warm breeze carried the scent of rain into the bedroom, ruffling the curtains and leaving phosphorescent trails of heavy air in front of her sleep-deprived eyes. Outside, an occasional car would go down the street and shortly bathe the bedroom in the dim glow from the headlights. Nat yawned and dropped back onto the mattress, rolling onto her side, pulling a blanket over her shoulders, and curling into a ball as if doing so would help her reach dreamland a little faster.

No matter how still she held her body, or how slow she made her breathing, she was still wide awake half an hour later. The more she considered it, the more disturbed she was about what Mystique had said to her, and now the conversation haunted her almost as much as sleep eluded her. She couldn't help but ponder that one most mysterious statement, and Mystique's hushed tones seemed to creep into the bedroom unannounced, hovering over her and making themselves known only when she was closest to sleep, jogging her painfully back into the world of the awakened.

"…a_re you prepared to use your abilities, whatever that may come to entail in the future_…?"

What could that possibly have _meant_? It was as if the shape-shifting demoness had anticipated something about Nat that even she did not yet know, as if she knew there was something inside of the fiery young mutant that promised some sort of further enhancement. Terror had gripped her when she had first heard those words, and it was yet to leave her alone so she could rest, and instead echoed ominously within her skull. She remembered Kurt's mention of mutants who mutated further, and the idea was more than slightly disturbing.

By some means unrevealed to Nat, did Mystique know what Nat had been fearing for the past few days? Since the fire at the mansion, and since she had somehow managed to consume her flesh within the warm embrace of her body's own flames, there had been a lingering sense of doubt in the shadows of her mind. She had never known that she was capable of doing such a thing, nor was she sure of why Jean hadn't been able to stop her psychically when the others showed up in Xavier's office.

In the back of her mind, she was as positive as daylight is bright that her mutation was altering.

God only knew how long she'd been able to block psychic advances, or to spout flame from every part of her in addition to her hot and calloused fingertips. Unlike the years before this fateful discovery, she had now begun to crave the heat, to relish the gently clinching tendrils that encircled her body and mind like loving fingertips. It used to hurt, and now the warmth was more like sunlight, or a tender hand on a cold face in the dead of winter.

She lay there amongst the cradling hold of the blankets with the scent of a summer night drifting in through the window, pretending that she was among the blazing vines even now. She could feel it creeping along her limbs, converging at her core and radiating forth with heat threefold. Imaginary smoke and fire leaped along her skin and danced in her hair, shooting down her throat and into her lungs, filling her up from within.

Instead, she shivered beneath the blankets in the real world and tried to act as if she had imagined everything that had happened after her tenth birthday.

That fateful day at Xavier's mansion had blessed her with a measure of control that she had never before known. Once she had submitted to the fire and allowed it to so completely devour her, it had ceased to linger on her shoulder as an enemy to be scorned and feared, and had resurfaced like a welcome gift, a talent that failed to deceive her now that she had allowed it to possess her. Her body glowed and burned internally. The fire was no longer something separate and dangerous, like an invading virus.

It was becoming a part of her.

But how had Mystique known about _that_? And what if she didn't know anything at all, and Nat was simply being paranoid, an aftereffect of once again being on the run? It was all so intolerably confusing, like so much of the world had always been.

Whether or not there was knowledge about Nat's abilities being shared with those other than herself, Mystique's statement was a disturbing one. Did she ask all of her recruits such questions, demanding future loyalty? Or, after what happened with the X-Men, were even her former enemies reluctant to trust her?

The second possibility made her insides twist into an aching pretzel. There wasn't a part of her, mental or physical, that didn't cringe at the idea that the Brotherhood didn't trust her. Of course, they had plentiful reasons to doubt her motives, no matter how much she may wish they did not.

After all, she was hardly without a past.

Her eyelids fluttered open again, and she flung the blankets aside with a sigh. On the other side of the bedroom, her gaze fell upon the cardboard box that had once belonged to Rogue, and she threw her feet out of bed and onto the cold floor, shivering despite the warm breeze that entered via the window. On her way to the door, she kicked the mentally offending box aside, hiding it under the bed so she wouldn't accidentally see it when she came back into the room.

Using her hands to guide herself along the darkened hallway, she found the narrow staircase and eventually sought out the kitchen, throwing cabinets open on every side until she located a tall metallic tumbler and filled it with ice and water from the refrigerator door. She gulped down two glasses and was ready to refill the cup with her third when she thought better of it, tossing the empty glass into the sink with an unanticipated clatter that made her jump.

Slowly, she walked into the living room, glancing at the dark television screen and watching the VCR/DVD player flash twelve o'clock in tiny yellow numbers on the digital screen. Finally, unsure of what to do but fully aware that she wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon, she slipped into the hall bathroom and twisted the faucet to the left without turning on the light, filling her palms with water and splashing it across her hot face and neck. She had been feeling rather dehydrated since the accident.

Strange, she considered it, for cool water and the stab of fire to both feel so good on the same expanse of skin.

Her pale cheeks and wide eyes met her in her reflection when she stood back up, her face somewhat chalky and blue in the dim light of the bathroom and her eyes looking almost painfully bright. She splashed her fingertips in the water once again and turned the faucet off, never taking her gaze off of the mirror.

What an odd few months it had been, and yet she looked essentially the same. Same features, same expression, same haunted, perpetually nervous glance that always angered her when she realized how damn emotional it made her look. How timid and apprehensive.

Had that been how Kurt had seen her? Did he know how insecure she was, and maybe even take advantage of the fact that she felt that no one harbored any interest in her? She knew he had once been interested in Kitty, who was, in many ways, Nat's exact opposite, but that had never worked out. What if Kurt, who had never had any luck with the opposite sex, had seen Nat as an easy target to get in a little relationship practice? Had she been the "next best thing"?

But, as soon as she had seen that terrible expression in her eyes and face, it was gone, and she was left instead with a mere hollowness that made her feel rather sick to her stomach. _Imagining things again_, she told herself, but she spent several long moments trying to find the frightened face in the mirror again, unable to make it resurface. Along with it went her doubts about Kurt, which were replaced by a dull pain and a hope that he wasn't having to fight too hard to forget about her.

"Feelin' okay, Flamethrower?" asked a voice from behind her, and she jumped a bit, noticing an even paler orb beside the one that was her head in the mirror. Pietro.

"I'm fine," she said, but she paused a millisecond too long in her retort. She reached for a hand towel and dabbed the remaining water droplets from her palms and cheeks.

He snorted quietly, leaning against the bathroom countertop on his elbow and letting his long legs jut into the doorway as if to block any attempts she might make to leave. "You don't look so 'fine' to me."

"Yes, well, thanks so much for your expert opinion, Sigmund," Nat snapped under her breath, sidestepping his outstretched legs. She set out for the stairs but changed her mind and entered the living room, flopping limply down onto the sofa.

Ignoring the sideways glare he received, Pietro took a seat on the arm of the couch beside Nat's left elbow, his long-fingered hand almost touching her shoulder when he draped his arm across the back. His denim-covered thigh pressed against her wrist and she whipped her arm away in irritation, glancing over to see that he was apparently already prepared for school.

"Why are you already dressed?" Nat asked with a suspicious scowl.

"I don't sleep much."

"Well, what are you doing down _here_, anyway?"

He yawned, reaching past to snatch the remote from the cushion beside her. "Watchin' TV. And what's with the sudden third degree, _Ogień_*?"

"_What_?" she demanded, her eyebrows knitting tightly together as she spun around to face him. He rolled his eyes in response and resumed flicking through the channels.

"Nevermind…"

Nat continued to glare at him as he trailed off, and she got to her feet and stomped a few meters away, standing between him and the television with her arms akimbo and her chin pointing outward. "No! I want to know what it is that you called me. How do I know it wasn't something horrible?"

"God, forget it, okay? It's not important or anything."

"It is if you're calling me something foul!"

"Oh, would you just sit down and shut the hell_ up_?" So quickly that Nat didn't have time to move away or even notice what was happening, Pietro leapt from his seat, tore across the living room and took her by the shoulders, tossing her back onto the couch and returning to his own spot beside her.

Stunned and more than a little annoyed, Nat glanced up at him, her hair disheveled and her mouth a little circle of surprise. "I…I…"

"Should have listened to me? Yeah, you probably should have. Now." He grinned at her, and when he went on he spoke with a terrible approximation of her accent. "Now htat you're done questioning _me, what gets __you out of bed so early on this fine morning, Miz Fairbanks?"_

Hastily trying to flatten her flyaway hair, Nat glanced at him and then back at the television, where a middle aged man was hawking the health benefits of turning carrot sticks and apples into juice. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Not tired, that's all."

With another roll of his eyes and a little snort, Pietro took hold of Nat's shoulder again, spinning her around to face him. She jerked away and slapped at his hands, but he went on unabated.

"Yeah, I believe _that_."

"Bite me."

"Okay." Laughing, with his pale eyes glinting eerily in the light of the television's dull orange glow, he leaned forward and took hold of the edge of Nat's chin, nipping her sharply with enough force to startle a shriek out of her but not do any damage. Her immediate response was the flail her arms so that at least one of her hands smacked against the side of his face.

"Ow!" Pietro yelped, glaring at her with his palm held to his cheek. "What the hell was _that_ for?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"You told me to!"

With a grunt of disgust, she slapped at his shoulder, nearly knocking him off of the couch, but he swung himself toward her at the last moment so he came forward instead, his chest pressing against Nat's and jolting her out of her seat, sending Pietro tumbling onto the couch on top of Nat. She looked up at him with a shocked expression, her eyes wide and her cheeks rapidly coloring a delightful shade of soft fuchsia.

There was a single awkward moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity, as Pietro's heart thudded against his ribs and Nat's face continued to darken into a deep blush. He could feel her hands on his forearms, and see the wrinkle in her brow that told him she was going to either swear very loudly or send her knee into his crotch at any second.

So he took his chance.

Before Nat had a chance to figure out what was happening, his lips were against hers, grinding against her teeth.

She went slightly limp beneath him before she felt the dream return into her consciousness, when Kurt's hands were on her, and _he_ was kissing her, and she realized in a moment of painful clarity just how different this felt.

"Get _off_!" Lurching her hips so Pietro spilled onto the carpet below the couch, Nat leaped up and stood in the doorway, towering over her fallen companion who laid there for a moment before he scrambled to his feet, too stunned to move. "Did I ask you to kiss me?"

He looked at her, a strange expression of confusion and frustration warring in his eyes before he quickly masked it. "Not exactly, but you didn't really ask me _not_ to, either. Besides, _last time—"_

"'Last time' you took me by surprise!" Flinging her hands in the air, Nat stamped her bare foot hard on the floor, letting out a _harrumph. "Wonderful!" Her hands flitted about her face like a pair of birds freed from their cage and unsure of where to go, but too afraid to fly away. "I…I can't, okay?"_

The confused look returned for a passing moment before he stood and came to her side, trying to fight the urge not to apologize with a hug. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her torso as if she were terribly cold, and she was shaking slightly. "Why not, Nat?"

When her eyes met his he noticed the tears there, and a sudden ache twisted in his stomach at the knowledge that he was probably the one who had made them appear there. "I just _can't_, okay?"

"Is this about the X-Freaks?"

The tears that fell were then of anger, and she stamped her foot again, so hard this time that it stung in her heel. "God damn it, of course it is, you idiot, and don't _call_ them that!" She wiped her face with a single shaking hand, trying not to make eye contact with him but somehow unable to look away. "I had a life there, don't you understand that? They were the first people that I trusted, _really_ trusted, and n-now I don't even know how I'm supposed to _feel_ about them! They were my _friends_, damn you, and you expect me to just pretend that I don't remember them? Well, I can't!"

Pietro looked away, and this time Nat either didn't notice the pained look in his eye, or was too wracked with anger to care very much. "You mean Nightcrawler…"

She paused, almost understanding the hollowness in his voice. "No." She lifted her chin and tried to keep her voice from wavering too much "No, I mean _Kurt_."

He glanced down at his feet, kicking at the leg of the couch with one sneakered foot, listening to Nat as she went on.

"Let me tell you something, Mister Bad-Ass Brotherhood: I don't give a damn _what_ team I'm a part of, as long as the people I love…I mean, _care about_…are there. That's what matters to me. The friendship—" her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips together tightly "—not the title. Or the codenames. Or even the fucking ideology! If Kurt was a member of the We Kick Puppies Club, I'd sign my name in blood to be a member!"

A cold silence descended between the two. Nat stood there, fuming, with her shirt crooked and her hair a mess, eyes blazing in a way that would have warned back a charging rhinoceros. Pietro stood back a few paces, not quite sure of what he should say next. He opened his mouth to respond, but snapped it closed again like a fish, and repeated the process a few times. For once in his life, Pietro Maximoff was speechless.

Nat's lip curled up in fury, revealing strong white teeth behind it. "But I guess you don't understand that, do you? You're a tough guy who has nothing better to do than kiss girls who have made it _abundantly_ clear that they don't want your fast hands anywhere near them. So I suppose that means that no one has ever made you feel that way."

She spun around on her heel and stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway and up the stairs, fading into the darkness of the early morning house. As soon as he heard her door close, the words he had meant to scream finally returned to him, and burst forth in the form of a whisper.

"Well, that's where you're wrong, _Ogień_. _I know _exactly_ what it's like to feel that way."_

*Polish for "fire" or "flame". (Correct me if I'm wrong!)


	45. The Benefits of PassiveAggressive Fruit

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**Chapter Forty-Five: The Benefits of Passive-Aggressive Fruit**

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Kurt yawned and stepped into the hallway, grinning lackadaisically at Evan and 'porting ahead of the tank-top-wearing teen on the stairs, startling him. Evan laughed and aimed a punch at Kurt's shoulder, but the older mutant was a tad too quick and got away unscathed.

"_Bitte_!" He waved a dismissive hand at Evan, rolling his eyes, which gleamed with their customary golden light. His stare seemed to gaze right through the younger boy all the same, his habitual friendliness just slightly wary on the edges. "Got to move a little faster than that to snag a teleporter, _mein__ Freund_."

Behind him, Kurt could hear Evan laughing, and the sound was undeniably comforting. Life seemed to be coming back to what might almost pass as normal around the mansion, all things considered. Scott was busy at the professor's bedside, but Hank had arrived home at the same time that the other had been whisked off to the hospital, and his company was much the same: a sane-minded, older male presence that lent a note of security to an otherwise troubled household. Jean, too, had fallen into an unsolicited leadership role, especially now that Moira was occupied with Xavier's medical needs and Logan was off on his motorcycle more often than not, stopping in now and then for a bite to eat and a word with the students.

Rogue exited her bedroom on the other end of the hallway, trying to smooth down her bed-tousled hair and smiling faintly but managing only to screw her face up into an enormous yawn. Kurt snorted a little and grimaced. "I don't know, Rogue. If you're going to stick with that whole 'bitter and solitary' Goth look, you might need to try getting ready again. You look a little too pretty."

Rogue yawned again, hardly glancing at him as they made their way to the dining room. "And you look a little too perky, Elf, so I guess we're even."

Seated at the head of the table, wearing a simple, gauzy blouse and an ankle-length skirt, Storm was conversing with Logan, who was smeared with dirt and smelled mildly of sour beer. A bit of dried blood (without any other trace of a wound, of course) stained his jaw and the collar of his coat, the remnants of a bar fight or maybe a scrap in an alley. When Kurt and Rogue entered the room, with Kitty and Evan close behind, Ororo gave her colleague a spare glance and jerked her head toward the door. "Clean up. We'll talk later."

Kitty's interest was instantly piqued, and her hand paused over the bowl of fruit salad, a spoon and a chunk of cantaloupe hovering over the dish. "Didja find something, Mr. Logan? Have you found Natalie yet?"

Kurt grimaced, and didn't notice the brief glance that passed between Logan and Ororo. Wolverine sniffed loudly and heaved his shoulders, leaving the room on heavy feet. His lingering odor of beer halls and motorcycle grease followed him into the hall.

Blue eyes wide, Kitty leaned forward to Kurt, nudging him with her elbow. "Did you, like, _see_ that?"

Spearing a grape on the prong of his fork, Kurt didn't even look up. A strange sensation was building in his stomach, and the idea that their teachers and mentors were being somehow clandestine was not a comforting one. "_Was_?"

With a sideways nod, Rogue indicated her approval. "Definitely weird."

On Kurt's other side, Evan bounced in his seat, annoyed with his own inability to pick up on the more subtle nuances of the adults' conversation. "What'd I miss?"

A stern pair of pale eyes was turned in their direction, framed by a lean brown face and a swathe of ivory hair. "_Nothing_, Evan. All of you, eat your breakfast. I'm not excusing any of you if you're late to your classes again."

Kurt grinned at Evan, who was busy trying to kick the blue-furred mutant off of his seat, but Kurt's heart wasn't really in it. It was a game they played with almost embarrassing frequency, simply kicking each other as discretely as possible under the table until one of them either fell off, yelped in pain, or got yelled at for being annoying. Basically, it was your standard morning at the breakfast table of the Xavier Institute. Anything to make him feel more like normal again.

Kurt grinned and kicked back, grunting as his shin connected sharply with a crossbeam underneath the table, making the plate of muffins jostle loudly. Kitty huffed and Rogue brandished a butter knife threateningly in their direction, but neither of the boys took their female teammates at their word until a small dish of jam sailed across the table and splattered across Kurt's shirt.

Even that, in its own sticky, obnoxious way, was a welcome event, and it gave Kurt a perfect opportunity to send Rogue tumbling to the floor by a well-aimed kick to the underside of her chair.

"Oh, Ah'm gonna kill you guys!"

Evan erupted into hyper laughter, and Kurt just blinked innocently at his fuming teammate, who stood in a battle stance, ready to pounce. He took a bite of a poppy seed muffin and blinked again.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think _you_ did that, Kurt," Ororo said, giving him a tight-lipped and admonishing glance across the tabletop, and Kurt smiled.

"Who, me? I vould nev—"

A torpedo-like projectile aimed at his temple stopped him in mid-sentence, bouncing off of him and making him chomp down on his tongue, howling in pain. Rogue smirked, taking her seat calmly. "Right. Same way Ah would never chuck an apple at your head."

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There was a small pain between Nat's eyes that told her on no uncertain terms that she hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before. She spied Pietro on the other side of the kitchen, seated at the table and rolling an orange back and forth in front of him. His eyes rested on the pages of an open textbook, but his pupils were still as he supposedly scanned the type. Beside him sat Fred, who was staring, equally blank-faced, at his white-haired teammate at his side.

Nat entered softly on gently falling feet, eying Pietro and spotting Toad and Lance by the refrigerator. She smiled nervously at them all, unsure of what to say during her first morning as a member of the Brotherhood. Todd, on the other hand, seemed fully aware of what role he expected her to take.

"So...what are you makin' us for breakfast?" With a snap of his long tongue, he snatched a fly out of the air and smacked his lips around it. Nat stifled the urge to contort her face in disgust and stared at him, a little confused.

"Why? Did someone tell you that I was planning to cook? I'm still practically a guest here!"

Todd shrugged and sidled up beside her, hopping onto the countertop with an almost bored fillip and gazing down at her from his strange new vantage point. "Guest-shmest. You're a girl, yo. You must've learned _somethin__'_ about cooking in home-ec over the years." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, leaning forward and only keeping himself from falling by catching hold of an open cabinet door. He was left dangling a few feet off of the linoleum with his dirty sneakers planted on the edge of the countertop.

Nat heard Fred give a little snickering laugh and out of the corner of her vision, just beyond peripheral clarity, she saw Lance lean against the refrigerator door, waiting for her to make some sort of response. Her cheeks colored, and a million pathetic comebacks swarmed into her mind, most of them doing little justice to her irritation. "Maybe, but using that argument would indicate that you'd learned something about personal hygiene in health class. And we all know what kind of conclusion you can draw from _that_." Reaching into the open cupboard, she grabbed the nearest cereal box and shoved it against Todd's chest, knocking him slightly off balance. "Eat up, Froggy. Yum _yum_."

Toad stared at her, blinking slowly. Lance reached over and took the box out of his hands, grabbing a handful of dry Cheerios and shoving them into his mouth. "Damn. She gave you quite a tongue-lashing there, man."

"Yeah," Todd snorted as he leapt from the counter with surprising grace, winking at Nat, who rolled her eyes and stomped away in annoyance. "'Tongue-lashing', huh? I _wish_…"

The roaring of Lance's laughter was almost enough to make Nat feel good about the progress of the morning, but her temporary thrill was dampered when she slowly approached the dining room table. She took a seat across from Pietro, who didn't dare move his eyes off the book, but she caught him shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

Fred chewed more slowly, noticing the strangely lingering glance that Nat gave his thin teammate, her eyes narrowed and somewhat cold. Tentatively, Fred handed Nat a slice of untoasted wheat bread, which she picked at noncommittally and seemed to pretty much ignore. She muttered a quiet "thank you", and Fred just nodded, unsure of what else to say. Pietro leisurely turned the page of his psychology book and seemed unfazed by the bizarre amount of attention his reading was getting from their new recruit. Across the kitchen, Lance was still chortling to himself, and Todd was beginning to scowl as he rifled through cabinets in search of something presweetened.

"What time are you leaving?" she asked, her question directed at Pietro, who merely shrugged, and barely even did that. Indignation flared to life in her breast, and she caught a string of swear words before they flew free. Her hands curled into fists, and she barely kept herself from leaping to her feet and leaning over the table to shout angry words into his face. "I'm mad at you, not the other way around," she hissed instead.

Lance's eyes widened as he pulled out a chair, straddling it backward, but he gave her a half-hearted grin around his bowl as he raised it to his lips, slopping a little milk on his shirt and going on unfettered. "Geez, are you always this cheerful in the morning?"

There was a brief silence. Fred cleared his throat. "So…uh, Pietro…whatcha readin'?"

Pietro circled the skin of the orange with a long, white finger, not paying much attention to the others. "Psych. There's a test on Wednesday. I got a good grade on the last one, which means I gotta know this stuff pretty well or the teacher might report me to the counselor for slipping or something. Those guys are a pain in the ass."

"Of course you're good at psychology, Pietro. Doesn't it have a lot to do with mislaid emotions and issues of displacement and stuff?" Nat asked politely, smiling with excessive sugariness. Fred blinked slowly, not positive what that meant but pretty sure that it hadn't been as friendly as it sounded.

Pietro placed his book aside, picking up a pencil and tapping it lightly against the side of his cheek as if he were deep in thought. Two could play at that game. "Actually, right now we're studying denial. You know, when a person convinces themselves that something is happening and it really isn't, or vice versa? They say people get that way a lot when their lovers toss them aside."

A flare of irritation brought her to life and she lurched forward, tearing the orange out of Pietro's outstretched hand. Her voice was lowered, but Fred heard her clearly enough, and Pietro would have to have been stupid to miss her meaning. "I'm not sure that _you're_ the one who should be giving out relationship advice at the moment." She dropped the fruit into his bowl with a splash of cereal and milk, and he scowled up at her, his cheeks coloring slightly when he felt Fred's surprised gaze falling on him.

He glanced at Nat, then at Fred, then at the other two, who were pretty much oblivious but had noticed a strange note of tension in the air and had grown quieter, looking up to gauge the origin of the anxiety. His eyes met Nat's again as he grabbed his book and bag, and said through gritted teeth, "I'm leaving for school. Get your own rides."

With that, he rose quickly and left the room in a blur of white and blue, little more than a ruffle of the curtains signaling his exit.

There was a moment of hesitation before Lance went on, glancing at Nat with a note of confusion in his square features. "What was that all about?"

Nat shrugged, staring down at her hands on the table, busying herself by playing with the edge of a napkin. She blinked hard, her eyes feeling arid and her throat craving a dose of heat and a splash of water. Her skin was parched, and she felt trapped between the two comfort zones of blazing heat and a normal temperature, as if her skin was suddenly too tight. Concentrating on not letting it go too far, she let one hand flare up momentarily, incinerating the napkin into a pile of fine black ash on the tabletop. "He's just a jackass."

"Duh, but why's he so pissy this morning?"

"Why all the questions?" She savagely tore the skin from the orange, taking a large bite. Juice puddled in the joint between her fingers, leaving her hand sticky. "He's got some issues to work out, that's all."

Lance narrowed his eyes. "Right."

"Uh…guys?" Fred began, patting his pockets as if in search of something. "He may have issues," he shrugged his thick arms and looked up apologetically, "but he's also got both sets of car keys."

Groaning loudly, Lance groped around in his own pockets for a moment before coming up short. "Damn. We're gonna have to take the minivan."

Todd's eyes widened in horror. "Aw, hell nah! There's no way in hell I'm going in that thing!"

"Shove it, Frog Boy!" Lance snapped. "It's the only way you're getting to school without taking the bus, and you're outta spare change after you spent it all on condoms in the public bathroom at the 7 Eleven, remember?"

The youngest boy's face brightened, and Nat felt her eyebrows arch toward her hairline. Fred howled with laughter, slapping his fat knees with a fist, great guffaws rolling past his blubbery lips. "Like you're ever gonna need those!"

"Hey!"

Nat glanced back and forth between her new teammates, debating whether she should advise that they start making their way toward school or join in the mean-spirited bantering about Todd's nonexistent sexuality. Lance beat her to it as he looked down at his scuffed wristwatch, and sprang to his feet. "Later than I thought. Get in the van."

"Nooo!" Todd howled, stamping his foot. "There's an 'Honor Student' bumper sticker on the back! It makes me wanna give _myself_ a swirly! I won't do it!"

"I don't care. It's either that or go to work with me at the hotel and clean bathrooms."

Todd paused, a note of interest on his lopsided features. "Any chicks leave underwear in there sometimes?"

"Oh, God, you're disgusting!" Nat shrieked, tossing her "book bag" (which was actually one of Lance's old gym bags and smelled a little like armpits) over her shoulder as she made her way to the door behind Fred.

Todd raised his hands in a weak display of compliance. "Okay, okay, I'll go in the van. But don't let _her _drive." Her jerked his thumb in Nat's direction. "She'll probably go on the wrong side of the road or somethin'."

"Shove it, Frog-Boy, or your going to get my boot on the wrong side of your jaw."

A confused look passed over Fred's small, deeply set eyes, making him look very stupid, but Nat remembered what she knew about his temper and kept the observation to herself. "Huh? Why would she go on the wrong side of the road?"

As the unlikely quatrain piled into the back of the musty and underused minivan (the back of which was found to contain a forgotten sack lunch from some time past), Todd rolled his eyes. He buckled into a seat in the back, beside Nat, and she squeezed herself into a narrow corner of the seat, pressing her forehead against the cool glass and trying to ignore the others. "Freddy, man: you're a dumbass, yo."

Nat had never seen anyone move so quickly in her life, not even to save their own skin, as Todd did as he scrambled away from the living mountain of flesh that was a very angry Fred Dukes, lunging into the backseat after him in a motion that made the entire van jolt threateningly to one side. With a girlish shriek, Todd leaped away, nearly elbowing Nat across the cheekbone, before Lance managed to coax Freddy back into composure.

Nat sighed.

Going back to school, with all its inevitable conflicts, was starting to look better and better…


	46. Cigarette Wishes and Face Punching Dream...

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**Chapter Forty-Six: Cigarette Wishes and Face-Punching Dreams**

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Tires screeching on the rain slickened blacktop, a decade-old minivan came to a rickety, bone-jarring stop in front of Bayville High. Grumbling somewhat about having to be at school so early, Fred and Todd exited the van, carefully ducking inside before they could be seen getting out of the mechanical monstrosity, but Nat lingered behind. Her fingers dug into the edge of the seat, and the rough fabric that bit into her palms didn't seem to bother her. Her face was washed-out and looked oddly stiff as she gazed up at the pastel-walled stucco building, teeth chattering.

Lance frowned and turned around in his seat, his impatience waning when he saw the expression of anxiety on the girl's pale face. With a sigh that went beyond irritation and into that rarely dredged well of empathy somewhere deep inside him, he swung the van into a nearby parking spot and cut the engine. The driver of a small silver sedan that had been heading for the spot swore at him loudly, but he ignored them and rattled the keychains in the ignition. He looked a little bored, and for several long minutes, he didn't even attempt to make conversation.

Finally, Nat's own edginess at the unaccustomed silence wore through, and she cleared her throat. Lance glanced at her and took her faint sound as his opportunity to speak. "You nervous?"

Nat swallowed her immediate response of terrified admission, peeling her hands off of the seat and rubbing them together out of uneasy habit. "A little."

"Looks like more than a little, if you ask me."

Nat rolled her green eyes, trying to appear uninterested in conversation. "Well, I didn't, but thanks."

A scowl crossed Lance's features, and he scratched at the patchy stubble that was appearing on his chin. "I was just askin'. You don't have to jump down my throat just 'cause you and Maximoff aren't getting along."

"Why? What'd he say to you?"

Lance grinned, his eyes going wide. "Well, _that_ got your attention, didn't it?"

Sighing, Nat gazed downward at her lap and the intertwined hands there, forcing herself to separate her fingers and smooth the front of her sweater. This wasn't the time to look silly, or to cling to a habit that really wasn't necessary anymore. She could control herself better than that now, she hoped. "Yeah, well…he's got some sort of idea in his head that I owe him something for bringing me to you guys."

"Don't you? Seems to me that we were the best choice you've made in a long while."

"You don't know anything about my choices, now or ever before. What makes you think you do?"

"Don't know." He shrugged, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the ashtray near his right knee and tossing one in Nat's direction when he caught a glimpse of her hungry stare, not bothering to send back the lighter. He knew as well as she did that she didn't require a manufactured flame. "But I _do_ know that you need us now."

Nat was silent for a long while, rolling the delicate tube back and forth between her fingers, trying to appreciate it for the sickly sweet smell of tobacco and the dry feeling of the paper against her skin, rather than the impending sense of power that the upcoming blaze would bring. Nicotine was nothing anymore: it was the feeling of her recently acquired new self surging forth, licking at the cigarette with tongues of heat and catching it on fire, that she craved. Squeezing her throat tightly shut, she pinched the filter so it would be difficult to hold in her mouth, lest the temptation become too great, and stuffed it into her pocket, unused, unlit, and dangerously close to tearing.

Lance continued, watching the girl out of the corner of his eye as she pocketed his gift, wondering why Magneto and Pietro had been so intent on capturing this meager prize. "And I also know that you're scared outta your skin to go into that school. Trust me, I understand." He grinned. "Then again, I'm guessin' you're not worried about a test you missed or somethin'."

Nat smiled weakly. "Not exactly."

There was another protracted silence. "Worried about seeing them? The Xavier guys?"

A small nod. "Pretty much."

Rattling the keys again for a moment, he turned them in the ignition and the engine roared back to life suddenly, making Nat jump in her seat. "Just stick near Pietro. If they bug you, have him drive you home. I'll talk to him if he gives you a hard time about it."

Swallowing her fear and trying to calm her battering heart, Nat slid out of the seat and onto the sidewalk beside the van, giving Lance an appreciative smile as she nodded again. "S-see you later, then."

"Yeah. Later."

As the van tore out of the parking lot, Nat looked up at the school, with a few dozen students milling around outside, chatting and copying homework for first period classes. She saw a few familiar faces, but none of the ones she dreaded seeing, and considered skipping third block to avoid running into Evan.

Quelling her trepidation with a few comforting words muttered under her breath, Nat walked up the steps into Bayville High School, feeling a little wobbly in the knees, but holding herself steady.

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"If ya don't hurry up, Ah'm gonna give ya reason enough ta be late, Kitty Pryde!"

Kitty flipped her ponytail in that oh-so-very prissy way that she used to deliberately annoy Rogue and reached for her lipliner. "Oh, would you, like, just _relax_! We've got ten minutes before class starts. Since when have you been so concerned about punctuality, anyway?" She batted her eyelashes in the locker-mounted mirror, trying not to laugh at the seething rage emanating from her companion. Her makeup wasn't really _that important to her, but it was more than a little enjoyable to irritate Rogue by making her stand around through a more thorough application._

"Ah don't give a damn about bein' late, Pryde, but if Ah have to stand here and watch you primp for one more second Ah'm gonna blow a gasket!"

Rolling her eyes, Kitty reached into the locker and grabbed the fine white strap of her backpack, tossing it over her shoulder. "Oh, fine, I'm ready. You can unclench now."

The two girls continued on down the hallway, bickering good-naturedly as they approached the door to the economics classroom, with its life-sized poster of Adam Smith greeting the students that entered. As they passed, Rogue nonchalantly reached out a hand and stuck a giant glob of chewed grape bubble gum smack dab in the center of Adam's semi-gloss, dreary face, smirking as she did so.

Kitty was in mid-protest when her face went suddenly pale, her eyes gazing just past Rogue and into the milling crowds of teenagers behind her. Rogue frowned and turned, her nose wrinkling as she searched for the cause of Kitty's apparent distress. The younger girl grabbed her by the carefully clothed elbow and tried to steer her into the open doorway of the classroom, but Rogue wrenched her arm away.

Sounding a little whiny but more distraught, Kitty tried to reclaim her grasp. "C-come on, Rogue, we've got to get to class. W-we're gonna be, like, you know, late or something."

Rogue screwed up her face and stared at her companion in unmasked confusion. "Ya just said we've got time! What's goin' on?" She turned and surveyed the crowd again just as the warning bell sounded, and the hallways gradually began to clear.

One figure, a dark-haired, fair-skinned girl in a tattered sweater and jeans that didn't seem to fit well, moved just a little too slowly to disappear into the shouting, seething masses as they thinned and went their separate ways. Rogue's eyes flew open wide, and her gloved hands tightened into fists. Kitty reached for her elbow and missed by a mere millimeter or two. The girl down the hall caught their eyes and suddenly blanched and turned on her heel. She tried to look casual as she walked down the hall too quickly to be at a normal stride.

With a few broad footsteps powered by the steam of pure ire, Rogue grabbed Nat's shoulder and whirled her around. Rogue's upper lip curled and she glowered down at the shorter girl, who was staring up with eyes the size of golf balls, her entire body tensed and ready for the confrontation.

"Ya've got a lotta nerve showin' up here unannounced and all, ya know. That's just plain _rude_."

Kitty caught up with her teammate and stood a few steps behind her, her small fists balled up under her chin in an almost comical display of unfocused terror. She chewed on her lip in apprehension, staring at the two older girls and just a little too afraid to intervene.

Nat swallowed and tried to steady her wavering breath. "R-rogue, I'm just here to go to class."

"Like hell ya are, Traitor." She leaned forward and spat out the word like it was poison, stinging Nat's insides with a gummy venom. Kitty began to squirm in overt discomfort, and Nat pressed her lips tightly together, trying to stifle the urge to push Rogue out of her face.

"Don't call me that."

"An' just why not? Ya ain't done anything lately that makes me consider ya anythin' else!"

"I'm no more a traitor to the X-Men than you are to the Brotherhood, so I don't—"

There was a moment when time seemed to hold still, and Nat saw Rogue's face coming at her for what felt like an eternity before she felt the weight of a well-aimed fist strike her midsection. It was a mild one, meant more to warn her back than to hurt her, but she felt the air rush from her lungs all the same. Kitty shrieked and leaped forward, her hands shaking as she fought the desire to jump in at either girl's defense.

Nat doubled over, trying to regain the oxygen she had lost, and failed to do so for several long, painful seconds. She leaned against her palms on a nearby locker, pounding on the metal in a panicky bid to force herself into control. Her eyes started to water as she laboriously gasped and heaved for air, until she was finally able to pull a timid, achy breath into her lungs. She spun around to face her former teammate, tears stinging at her eyes from both sadness and anger, more prominently the latter.

Rogue looked surprised at herself for a moment, but her fury returned full-fledged when Nat regained her breath. "You an' Ah are nothin' alike! Ah ain't a murderer!"

Stunned, Nat went a little lax, her hands falling limply at her sides. Between gasps, she whispered, "Is he…"

Kitty took this as her cue to enter the conversation, pushing gently past Rogue and standing beside her, facing Nat with angry eyes. "He's alive, no thanks to _you_."

Irritation flashed across Nat's face. "I didn't do anything, at least not anything on purpose! I don't know _what_ happened, but _I_ didn't do it!" A vein jumped in her forehead, and she felt her cheeks color with wrath. "You honestly think I would hurt the professor after he took me in?"

"When he took ya in after ya torched your _old_ school, ya mean." Rogue asked, holding her palms outward. "Ah'm not sure that argument makes a whole heck of a lot of sense, Fairbanks."

"Screw you!"

Kitty shook her head, and shouted, "Knock it of, both of you! You're being, like, totally immature! You can't go fighting in the hallways like a couple of idiots. You think no one's going to stop you and expel you both?" She glanced nervously around, where a few passing students stopped momentarily, but generally moved on quickly, sensing the intensity of the situation.

Rogue shot her an angry glare. "Ah don't care! Logan's been lookin' for her for days, and here she comes, just waltzin' on in like she has any right to be here at all!"

"It's a public school, you know! I've just as much right as you do to be here, you so-called X-Man!" Nat stopped, surprised at herself, and Kitty's eyes went somehow wider. Nat's mouth felt suddenly dry.

When had she started to think about it as "us" and "them", and since when had the X-Men been _them_? And when did she begin to consider _Rogue_ the traitor? Her intestines felt knotted and queer, and seemed to roil painfully in her stomach.

It was Kitty that reacted this time, pushing her teammate out of the way and standing mere inches in front of Nat, fuming. Her cheeks were pink, and her teeth looked sharper and more menacing when she bared them in a snarling glare. "You haven't got _any_ right to question her loyalty! You turned your back on the man who took you in, and the person that cared about you the most!" She rose a finger in Nat's face, wagging it irritatingly close to her nose. When she spoke again, her voice was menacingly low. "If you'd cared about any of us even, like, a tiny bit, if you'd cared about _Kurt_, you'd never have been able to do what you did and run from it like a gutless little coward."

The atmosphere seemed to crackle around the girls, and Nat could feel an angry heat sidling up her vertebrae. She subdued it instantly, knowing that the passing students hadn't yet cleared the halls, and aware, even in her current state, that she couldn't lose control.

Her fist, however, she wasn't able to stop.

She could practically hear the whistling of the air as her balled-up hand cut through it, and was entirely prepared to hear the sound of Kitty's nose cracking, to feel the pain of her knuckles striking flesh and bone, and was surprised when she wasn't greeted with it. Instead, she felt a different pain, as an unexpected intruder caught her fist in mid-arc, holding it firmly.

When the heat of the moment had somewhat passed, she turned and faced Pietro, who was looking at her with annoyance etched on his features.

Kitty had her arms shielding her face in an expert martial arts block she'd learned from Logan, and it took her a moment or two to realize that her attacker had been stopped. She slowly lowered her arms, and she and Rogue stared at Pietro too, both of them still too surprised to speak.

He shrugged. "Can't keep your eyes off her for ten minutes, can you?" He grinned and grasped Nat by the forearm, yanking her hard enough that she was lifted off her feet, and the two of them were gone in a flash and a blur of rapid movement as they disappeared out the high front doors.

Nat groaned and reached for a nearby tree trunk when they abruptly stopped in the courtyard outside the school, loosing her balance and feeling a little queasy. Pietro watched her closely, a look of vague amusement on his features. Nausea welled up inside her and she tried to keep from vomiting onto the grass, holding her head between her hands to steady herself.

"What was that all about?" Pietro asked, a hint of humor in his voice.

Pausing before she spoke, Nat slowly lowered herself onto the grass, still somewhat green around the gills. "What d-do you _think _it was about, stupid?"

He shrugged. "You stealing one of Rogue's old sweaters?"

She gagged a bit and rolled her eyes, starting to feel a little better. "Shove it."

"Now, that's not what I expected to hear."

Nat glared up at him, barking, "Why'd you stop me? I wanted to hit her, and maybe even break something!"

"No you didn't."

She rose unsteadily to her feet, a tad too quickly for her tremulous stomach, and trembled a little on her feet. "Oh, I'm so _tired_ of people telling me what I _think_, and what I _feel_, and what I want to fucking _do_!" She brandished a fist, but it looked small and unthreatening. "I really feel like hitting _someone_, so if you don't get out of my way…"

"What, you'll make fun of my mental stability again, like you did at breakfast?" He rolled his eyes. "Ouch."

Nat sagged, dropping her fist to her side. She closed her eyes, raising her fingers to her pounding temple. "Fine. _Fine_, whatever." She walked slowly back toward the school, pushing past Pietro as if he weren't there, but heading along the side instead of re-entering the front doors.

"Hey! Where…where are you going?" He asked toward her departing back, trying to keep that annoying note of interested desperation from creeping into his voice again.

Nat kept walking, almost as if she hadn't heard him, before she responded a few long moments later. "I don't know." She turned suddenly, meeting his gaze. Her expression was contorted, but tired and lacking solid conviction. "I just need to think."

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"That her?"

He ignored his partner's too-loud questioning, refocusing the binoculars and raising them to his eyes again.

"I _said_, is that _her_?" Jason demanded, grabbing the binoculars from Harry's large fist, and getting shoved roughly back into the passenger seat of the car for his effort. He rubbed his shoulder and pouted, looking injured. "I was just _asking_."

Harry spun around and faced the younger man, glaring under his heavy eyebrows. "So stop asking! If I knew it was her and there was an option of _doing_ something about it, don't you think I'd say something?"

Jason shrugged. "I dunno."

"Well, I would, you little jerk-off, so shut the hell up and sit down! I can't keep the binoculars still if you keep bouncing around over there."

"Fine," Jason sulked. There was a long pause. "Hey, you got anymore of those Fritos?"

"God damn it, Jason—"

"Oh, here they are. Never mind." Loud, satisfied crunching filled the cab, followed by a belch that practically made the vehicle vibrate, and Harry gritted his teeth against the transgression. At least the moron wasn't drunk this time.

"You think you can be a little quieter?"

Jason frowned. "Why? You can't hear anything through binoculars, can you?"

"Christ, I swear—" Harry barked.

"Don't say that."

"Huh?"

"Lord's name in vain. Offensive and some shit."

"_Would you shut the fuck up_? I'm tryin' to keep an eye on the kid, and you're not makin' it any easier! I swear, if we manage to snag her it'll be an act of heaven's mercy, not good freakin' teamwork." He shook his head, trying to dislodge thoughts of knocking the younger F.O.H. member unconscious and tying him to the back of the truck.

Harrumphing loudly, Jason kicked his feet up on the dashboard and folded his arms across his chest in a childish display of nastiness. "Fine then! Maybe I'll just take a nap or somethin'. Then maybe I won't be able to be so _annoying_."

_At least you won't be making any noise_, Harry thought, but he just nodded and ignored his partner. Within minutes, Jason was snoring like a chainsaw, and Harry was ready to simply open the door and let him tumble onto the pavement like the lump of useless clay he was.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and went on watching the girl as she disappeared behind the school, following her every move until she was out of sight.


	47. True as the Dial

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"Loyalty is still the same,

Whether it win or lose the game;

True as a dial to the sun,

Although it be not shined upon."

_-Samuel Butler, 1663_

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**Chapter Forty-Seven: True as the Dial**

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Warnings. They were so easy when words would come, but so inconceivably difficult without the words to put shape to the thought, and awareness to the knowledge of how to express them. Each day, his students came to see him, his friends visited with a quiet utterance of comfort into a deaf man's ears, and he struggled against this terrible inability to warn them. Such an overwhelming feeling of exposure and horrible infancy of the mind!

Guilt, too, played heavily on his heart. Had he only known about his young charge's potential, immutable trauma could have been easily side-stepped. Still, his ignorance had paired with a desire to believe that she was nothing more than a helpless, frightened runaway, someone that he could shelter and guide and motivate, leaving him as oblivious as the girl herself of her own potential. If he could warn her, and his other students, then perhaps some of the damage could be undone.

But what if he wasn't the only one who knew? Somehow, the thought plagued him more than any other, and it wouldn't stop and rest.

Now, he struggled to bring his body under the same control that he usually had over his mind. Even _that_ seemed pointless and didn't seem to make much difference. Not a single psychic message, not a thought or a feeling, had passed through the damaged filters of his brain. He could dialogue only with his internal voices, and hope that Jean had not entirely abandoned her hopes of deciphering his apparently unexplainable situation.

The respirator had been taken away, and his chest rose and fell without the aid of machines. From time to time, a hand or eye would twitch, while the legs lay as flaccid and helpless as ever, and the hope of those watching over him would be renewed.

It hadn't been long. A week perhaps, maybe a little more or less.

God only knew what could happen during a week in the developing mind of the newest pyrotelepath on earth.

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There was not a student at Bayville that didn't dread the required completion of at least one course under Mrs. O'Creary, and not just because of the impossible exams and the teacher's affinity for weekend projects and pop quizzes. The fearsome old creature was probably the most ancient and tartly acidic individual ever to grace the hallowed halls of learning, and one who enjoyed the look of terror on a person's face during an episode of public humiliation. She trained her eyes on one black-haired boy in the far corner.

There really was something odd about that one.

"Now, can anyone tell me _why_ or _how_ the derivative of a function is given by its instantaneous speed?"

Kurt yawned widely, trying half-heartedly to block his face with his hand, and stared blank-faced up at the front of the classroom. His calculus book was propped up in front of him like a makeshift wall between himself and the teacher, and a spiral notebook was open with a pencil sharpened and ready for jotting down the teacher's notes, but nothing of educational value was scratched across the surface of the paper. Instead, he had drawn a small, messy sketch of a girl with dark hair, sitting with flames spouted from the ground all around her. Encircling the drawing were a series of disjointed German words in small lettering that reflected his rather fragmented state of mind. Now and then, he would gaze out the window to his side and watch the groundskeeper rumble past on the lawnmower, and stare at the symmetrical lines of wood and cement that made up the stadium in the distance.

"Mr. Wagner!"

Kurt jumped at the sudden bellow, which seemed considerably louder when he noticed it because he hadn't originally been listening very closely. He jumped in his seat, flailing slightly and knocking his calculus book onto the floor with a loud _bang_, startling laughter out of the nearby students. Beside him, Doug Ramsey chuckled softly to himself, pretending to scratch his chin so he could stifle the sound.

"_Well_?"

Kurt looked up. He blinked. The sour, triangular face of the eighty-year-old mathematician glowered across the room at him, and he felt himself shrug apologetically. The woman's yellowed teeth disappeared between wrinkled, pursed lips, and he tried not to think about how much she looked like a raisin. He blinked again and tried not to smile. "Uh…seventeen?"

The raisin seemed to color slightly in the cheeks, the heat of annoyance rising in the papery skin there. Squeezing her hands into fists, she looked formidable. Standing no more than five feet tall, she somehow seemed to carry all the authority of intimidation that might have been held if Magneto had entered the room. Kurt smiled nervously, waiting for a response, and got nothing more than a brusque shake of the woman's tiny head.

"Wrong again, Mr. Wagner." A tiny, twisted smile curved across her face, baring those small, discolored teeth again. "And here I thought the German schools taught their pupils respect and maturity for their educational processes. Then again, I suppose you've been with us here in the states too long to remember, haven't you?"

Kurt bit his tongue. Well, he bit it as much as his own nearly complete lack of self-control would allow, that is, and rolled his eyes as he responded, "No, ma'am, I think I may have just missed that day. I must have been too busy eating sausage and ironing my lederhosen for that lesson."

Laughter erupted again, beginning with Doug and filling the room in a domino effect in less than a second. Mrs. O'Creary did not look amused, and her glare brought silence back almost as quickly as it had fled. "I trust you're finished?"

He half-smiled. "Getting the answer wrong? _Ja_, I think so."

Her beetle-like eyes narrowed a fraction as they trained on him. "Completely, Mr. Wagner. Now, are you _finished_ disrupting my classroom and ignoring your responsibilities as a student?"

Doug coughed, opening his eyes in a threatening glare in Kurt's direction, silently ordering to shut up while he was still somewhat ahead. Mrs. O'Creary's gaze didn't falter. Kurt felt trapped between the two and squirmed in his seat, painfully aware of all the eyes on him, but also aware that pushing the teacher further, despite its comedic benefits, would get him nothing but an extra week of detention. "Uh…_ja_…"

"Good. Now, can anyone _else_ venture a guess? And it's _not_ seventeen…"

Despite his good intentions, Kurt's concentration wandered again, and soon he and Doug were waging a frantic thumb-wrestling championship under the guise of passing one another pencils, Kurt's hand wrapped in the end of his sweatshirt sleeve so Doug couldn't feel his fur. No one seemed to notice, however, that the same pencil was being passed back and forth, no more blunted than it was the time before. Repeatedly, one or the other made a little sound of pain as the other pinned his thumb down with a tight little squeeze, but each was careful to smother the noise.

That is, until Kurt glanced out the nearby window, and made a startling discovery.

Doug's thumb crushed down on Kurt's as soon as the older boy was distracted from the game, and he yelped in startled pain. Doug looked surprised, and Mrs. O'Creary's attention was again regained, the stick of chalk in her hand snapping against the blackboard. Steam seemed to rise in her face, and Doug went pale, immediately dropping Kurt's limp fist. Kurt, on the other hand, remained transfixed on a small, solitary figure that was making its way across the grassy fields toward the stadium, a torrent of dark hair trailing behind her as she picked up speed.

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Nat sat quietly, hands in her pockets, scuffing the toes of her shoes as she kicked at the ground. High above the football field in the shady stadium, she could look out over most of the Bayville High campus, and considerably farther since it was on a hill. The heat of the day had not yet set in, but the air held that faint hum of stillness and warmth that promised a stiflingly hot afternoon. The sky was relatively cloudless and seemed heavy in its intensity of blue, hanging above the horizon as if on strings that might break at any second. The mist of early morning and the scent of the rain that had fallen not long before had almost entirely vanished.

If she squinted she could see as far as the edge of Salem Center, just beyond the Bayville town limits, and she knew that if she followed the highway through the larger neighboring city she would eventually end up in the metropolis of New York. Apart from the Interstate, there was a single long, thin ribbon of pale gray, like a cement creek streaming through the trees and the suburban arena, that sliced neatly through both towns. It trickled off into the wilderness to the north, where it filtered into a series of small dirt paths and eventually into nothingness.

Graymalkin Lane. She recognized it even from far away, but it seemed so different from here. It was still quiet and tree-lined, and moderately secluded, but the familiar curves and cracks looked like entirely separate entities from here. The only thing she knew for sure was that if one followed the road toward the northeastern edge of town, near the ocean, and veered right before it cut in a westerly direction toward Salem Center, one would find oneself facing a high wrought iron fence, with a brick-faced mansion just beyond.

She drew her heels up onto the edge of the bench and wrapped her arms around her legs, her chin propped on her knee. A sigh was dragged from her lungs, inhaling the warm, sweet air of the morning.

She was out of tears.

A limpness remained, and the formless impression that she should be feeling a lot more. Her grief, her tears, and even that continuing guilt marriaged with self-pity, lingered only in the vaguest of senses. Too many tears had been shed from her eyes, and the exhaustion that they brought along was becoming more than a tad demanding.

She sighed and fingered the cigarette again, raising it to her mouth and letting it sit between her lips, unlit. It seemed so much easier to let it burn, but somehow, something stopped her. Maybe, if she could keep it unlit…

"That habit…_ungesund_, you know." Nat whirled around, nearly falling off of her seat and into the recessed space behind it. A familiar face greeted her, smiling faintly and shaking his head. He was silent for a moment, and kept his hands deep in his pockets, bobbing customarily up on the balls of his feet. "You'll get sick."

Nat's vision wavered. She stood a few yards away from her visitor and several rows of seats up, and she could see past him easily. Her brain supplied her with terrible messages that gripped at her throat and told her to bolt, reminding her of her confrontation with Rogue and Kitty and of Kurt's previous fury before she had left the mansion. Her heart fluttered slightly, but her feet were leaden, and she felt that she couldn't move an inch.

"Yeah…" she whispered, slipping the cigarette into her pocket with trembling hands. A small breeze had picked up and danced between them, as if to mock their silence. Kurt didn't come closer, but he lowered himself slowly onto one of the seats not far away, settling down on the edge of the seat's back, facing Nat. He cocked his head to one side and watched her as she watched back, neither quite sure what to say.

"So…"

"Are you coming back?"

Nat blinked, surprised at his sudden bluntness and afraid to answer too quickly. "Huh?"

"Back. Are you coming back to school?" He watched her intently, hardly blinking, and she felt somewhat heady.

"Oh, uh, right. School." She coughed nervously, and glanced away. "Yeah, I suppose so. How…how'd you get out of class, anyway?"

Kurt grinned, holding up a bright orange slip of paper. A detention slip. "I'm supposed to be in the office." He shrugged and laughed a little to himself.

The hush descended again, blanketing the two anxious teens in a layer of lethargy bonded somehow with jumpiness, that oddly heavy feeling of disquieting urgency, as if something burning needed to be said but first had to break through a brick wall. Nat gazed out at the empty sports fields so that Kurt's face was just outside her peripheral vision. She didn't see him vanish, but felt the sudden emptiness where his figure had previously sat, and the warmth of his body when he reappeared beside her. Wisps of smoke trailed off into the air and dissipated quickly, smelling faintly of brimstone and flame, and making her jump. She turned, finally, and faced him, this time only separated by a few thin inches of air.

"I vas hoping you'd come back," was all he said, and he reached forward to gently take her hand, which still quivered like a leaf under a strong wind, and almost pulled back. Tears stood out in her eyes, but refused to fall. "I never thought you really vould."

"I…I never thought you'd _want_ me to," she said, almost below a whisper, staring down at their intertwined hands.

He smiled faintly, and tilted her head upward with a tap to her chin. "It vas a communication breakdown, then."

"But…after…I mean…you know, what I…" She broke off, wiping her eyes hastily with the back of her hand.

Still smiling, but a little more falsely and sadly this time, Kurt shrugged. "I vas mad. At first—" he laughed slightly, quietly "—and maybe a little now, still. But…I don't know, I guess that's not the most important thing, altogether."

A sense of relief flooding through her, Nat sighed, her shoulders going rather limp, and she pulled her hands away from his again, rubbing them together habitually. Neither of them was willing to state just exactly what the most important thing _really_ was. Kurt smiled, but his eyes lingered on her hands as she rubbed them, and she noticed the action, choking slightly and forcing herself to stop. He sighed distantly and went on.

"Are you…you're staying vith Pietro, right?"

Nat found herself stammering, unable to gain full control over her tongue and her trembling lips, but eager to put any of his fears to rest. "Not just with Pietro, Kurt. With the Brotherhood." A small voice in the back of her mind reprimanded her for her choice of words of comfort, and she shook her head as if to dislodge the proper sentence from the recesses there. She stared at him, unable to tear her eyes away, and desperate to defend herself lest he think her callous and cruel. "I had nowhere else to go. I was alone, and this country is still pretty unfamiliar..."

Kurt nodded slowly. "Alright." He swallowed hard, but the set of his expression was honest. "I understand."

"While we're at it, I…I'm sorry about Kitty and Rogue."

A look of surprise flashed over his face, followed by a tiny glower of annoyance. "_Was_? Did something _else_ happen?"

"I…uh, we got in a fight. This morning when I first got to school." She shivered, despite the warmth of the morning and the faint sheen of sweat that threatened to appear on her hot brow. "I didn't mean to, Kurt. I swear. I just…I couldn't listen to them talk about what happened to the professor without…" her voice seemed to die, and she raised her hands and turned to him, pleading in her eyes. "Without thinking about how you must blame me, too."

The folded his arms over his chest, his hands slightly cold now that Nat had pulled her own away. He eyed her tentatively out of the corner of his vision, his heart thudding painfully behind his ribs. He wondered if she could hear it, and swallowed the question to ask another instead. "Should I?"

Green eyes wide, Nat stared at him, her expression bland but slightly sorrowful. "I…I don't think so." She bit her lip. "I mean, I know I _could_ have done it, and I know that I even _might_ have done it, if I'd lost control. But, Kurt, I swear, I don't know how the house caught fire, or why the Professor hasn't woken up! It was nothing that I meant to do, whatever my role _might_ have been, and I'm quiet sure that I didn't start the fire itself."

She seemed to shrivel in her seat, clasping her palms together tightly and staring down at her feet. Kurt sat silently for a moment, trying to absorb her words, inwardly joyful and terrified at the same time, proud that his feelings of doubt had been warranted but fearful of what she might have been done inadvertently.

But blame couldn't fall solely on the shoulders of those that had no intension to do wrong…could it?

He reached out slowly, placing an arm around her shoulders and letting her gradually loosen and tilt herself until she leaned against his side. Her forehead rested on his collarbone, and he could feel the heat radiating from her body, just slightly above that of a normal human. She smelled like jasmine-scented soap, and a strange and fluttering nostalgia invaded his being. She went on quietly, filling in the empty spaces where his unspoken words might have been.

"Something's happening to me, Kurt."

He pulled back suddenly, fear etched in his eyes and twisting across his face. His heart had begun to hammer unnaturally again, and he was beginning to distantly wonder if this much stress could be healthy, even in one as young and vigorous as himself. "_Was_, _Liebchen_? Is something wrong?"

She wiped at her cheeks again, but found her fingers dry. "I…don't know. All I know is that the…the fire…it's different, somehow. It's changed. I can control it better now, but, for some reason…I don't always want to." She felt him go slightly rigid against her, making her voice waver, but she coughed and went on, steadier this time. "And even when it's not there, I can feel it, as if it's always in my body somewhere. And in my head." She lightly touched a single fingertip to her temple, looking up at him, hoping he would say something comforting, but waiting to be violently rebuked.

Instead, he placed his hand atop the one against her temple and lowered it slowly, clasping it in her lap and brushing his lips gently across the place where the finger had touched. She shivered and her eyes closed as she leaned in against him, feeling the fine, dense fuzz on his face despite its holographic shielding. Something melted away inside her, then, and she knew instinctively that no matter what happened, _this_ felt right. Kurt was her trusted one, her dial always facing the sun.

The peaceful quiet and the gentle, companionable comfort were shattered in a moment. Neither of them had seen the lithe figure of a woman approaching, dressed in conservative gray with her glasses glinting in the sunlight, obscuring her eyes but highlighting the sharp angles of her face. She folded her arms and watched for a moment, irritation boiling up within her that she couldn't entirely explain, and quelled the urge to growl. She gritted her teeth and planted her feet firmly on the pavement at the base of the stadium, raising her voice to be heard in an echoing shout.

"Fairbanks! Get yourself to my office, now!" She was greeted by two pairs of shocked, then angry eyes, and smirked to herself. "Don't you dare give me that look, young lady. You've got a visitor."


	48. Terrible Things

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"Usually, terrible things that are done with the excuse that progress requires them are not really progress at all, but just terrible things."

_-Russell Baker_

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**Chapter Forty-Eight: Terrible Things**

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Kurt's eyes flashed with indignance and flickered anxiously toward Nat at the mention of a visitor, but he recovered quickly. His hand tightened around hers, drawing her slightly closer to his side. Nat, stumbling on the edge of a nearby seat at the sudden change in momentum, felt her limbs go slightly leaden, and stared down at Ms. Darkholme with unease straining within her chest. Her heart thudded noisily behind her ribs, and she took several slow, measured breaths, embarrassed at the thought that Mystique might be able to hear it.

Carefully dosed irritation was apparent on the older woman's voice when she spoke, dripping tartly as she ascended the stairs on clacking heels. A breeze stirred up her hair, and the sunlight that filtered through the slats overhead picked up just enough of the auburn glassiness beneath to make the locks look vaguely familiar to their natural shade. "Mr. Wagner, Miss Fairbanks, have you forgotten how to respond when you are spoken to? I don't believe hall passes apply to leaving the building to chat on the athletics field, now do they?" A smile played on her lips, and she stood with her hands perched on her angular hips. "And you, I think I said to get moving down to my office. Are you as deaf as you are dumb, or are you _just_ stupid enough to ignore me?"

Nat swallowed, and Kurt's hand tightened around her fingers almost enough to hurt, making her wince. She quivered internally as she turned to him with a question in her face, dreading the reaction he might give, but was greeted only with a tiny, stiff nod. _Better to play along for the time being, _his gaze said, and she tended to agree. Giving his wrist a squeeze, she dragged herself away from his comforting proximity and entered the chilly circle around Mystique just as the shapeshifter arrived at their level. Nat's throat went hard as she began to slowly move down the steps with her new "mentor" close behind, Mystique's stern attention stinging at the back of her neck.

Even beyond the cold eyes, she could feel his attention on her disappearing shape, and her eyes tingled. Her skin felt papery-dry, and ready to ignite. The urge was almost unbearable, but she knew what the result of _that_ might be. The flames she could handle, but what about the emotions that sometimes brought them on? There was no telling what might happen if she got out of hand again. And what if someone, a passing student who was skipping an unwanted class, or a groundskeeper working on the fields, were to wander past at the wrong moment? Nat shivered, and not entirely because of the guilt that lay on her heart or the discomforting presence that lingered over her shoulder.

A sudden, aching inspiration overtook her, somehow beyond even that which told her to succumb to her flames, and she swung away from her path down the steps, dashing up the stairs again and taking hold of Kurt's hand. She let the impetus of her own spontaneity drive her, using the thrust of her upward climb to propel her forward and against him for a kiss. The look of astonishment on his olive-toned holographic face and those artificial dark eyes didn't hide the delight beneath, and she felt the familiar, comforting warmth of his chest against hers. His presence momentarily overwhelmed her very senses, filling her with the taste of his lips and the heart-fluttering feeling of his breath mingling with hers.

A hiss of crass annoyance was uttered on the steps below, breaking their attention, and Nat turned her eyes back toward Mystique, giving a sheepish little shrug. "I, uh…forgot something." Nat gazed back at Kurt apologetically, but his grasp on her hip kept her firmly in place when she went to turn away.

"She'll be down in just a moment, _ma'am_."

Fury flared in their direction, and Nat leaped away from Kurt, taking just long enough for him to peck her again on the cheek. She came slowly toward Mystique, unable to fully suppress the grin blooming on her face. Her pale skin was colored crimson, and she glanced back over her shoulder in time to see him wink at her. Mystique's deceptively strong hand wrapped tightly around her charge's forearm and gave a hard tug, jerking Nat nearly off of her feet as they marched down the steps and along the path back toward the school.

Ms. Darkholme paused halfway down the path, planting her pointed heels on the pavement and reeling around. Lifting her head back toward the stadium, where Kurt's form had becoming smaller but was still easily recognizable, she called his name despite already having his rapt attention. "Regarding your apparent disregard of class schedules, Mr. Wagner: I think you ought to report to detention immediately after school this afternoon. I'll phone your professor. Oh, wait. _That_ won't do anything…"

Her eyes gleamed with an unpleasant light that made Nat want to instinctively rub her palms together, but her arm was still in Mystique's vice-like grip. She heard herself gasp, but an intense and overriding fear of the daunting woman beside her kept her from commenting on the cruel remark. She turned in time to see Kurt flash an awkward, apparently two-fingered version of the "bird" in Mystique's general direction, and Nat tried to call out to him that she was sorry, but was stopped by her own apprehension.

Guilt and irritation warred within the young mutant's being, and she turned her gaze down to the ground as she was roughly pulled along, trying to ignore the gnawing at her gut.

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"Nothing, and I mean _nothing_, pardons this kind of blatant disregard for my rules, young lady!" Ferocity blazed thick and heavy around her, and her eyes were slits behind the shield of her glasses. Her voice, low and quiet with vehemence and the desire not to be heard as she hauled Nat gracelessly through the hallway, Mystique's words were nearing a growl. Nat swallowed tightly, feeling a hard lump stop up her throat, and averted her gaze. Her fingertips were numb in Ms. Darkholme's grasp.

"I never meant—"

"Oh, of _course_, you didn't!" Here, she paused to open a door and released Nat momentarily, taking hold again and practically hurling her into the principal's office, slamming the door behind her. Nat stood near the entrance, rubbing her sore wrist and waiting for the inundation of rage to subside. "You wouldn't _dare_ act so irresponsibly if you had an ounce of a brain in that big hollow head of yours! Do you realize the amount of difficulty you're adding to this situation, you little fool?"

Her mouth dry with fear, Nat wasn't quite able to keep the words from tumbling past her lips. The comment about Xavier had fueled an already fierce dislike for this woman, and her continued ranting wasn't helping her along. "_What_ situation? There's no rule that I can't talk to people from the Institute! Lance does it all the time, and I don't see you dragging him through the school for a lecture." She folded her arms across her chest, feeling annoyance slowly win out over intimidation.

"Well, _you_ aren't Lance, halfwit. If you think for a moment that you've been around long enough to gain some sort of privilege, you are sorely mistaken!" Her hand shot out, and Nat winced, sure that she was about to be struck, and was surprised when she found herself landing sharply but unhurt in a high-backed office chair. Ms. Darkholme swung the chair about so it faced the desk and stood across from her "student", balancing herself on her fingertips on the desktop and leaning forward menacingly. Nat steeled herself for the torrent of Mystique's irate sermon and well-spaced insults.

Mystique's fair-skinned, dark-haired form slithered away, and she stood before her charge in her true form, complete with turquoise skin and bright red locks so glassy that they mirrored the light almost perfectly. She continued, her voice unwavering and her oddly translucent eyes slightly watery as she glared happily down at Nat. "You are _not_ to be seen anywhere near that boy, from here on out." She smiled, and Nat's eyes widened.

Nat leapt to her feet, swearing loudly, but she was knocked quickly back down. "You can't make that kind of order!"

"I can, I will and I already have."

Clasping her fists tightly, Nat shook with barely contained passion. Her teeth chattered and her face was hot with bubbling fury. "I'll see whomever I please, and there's nothing you can do about it, you wretched shadow of a woman! How dare you consider yourself his mother! All you do is thrust everything you can in his direction to make his life more difficult, and to hurt him! You haven't changed at all since you abandoned him, have you?"

Mystique began to tremble with ire, but she continued, mostly unabated, her eyes narrower and her voice a shade lower. "You will see him _nowhere_. Not here on school grounds, not at home, and not anywhere else you might be able to cook up. You might think that I won't harm you, him or any of his feeble friends out of some sort of misguided pity or allegiance. I would recommend rethinking this. I promise you, you will regret not cooperating if your connection with him is not be severed _immediately_. If you meet the little bastard in hell, I am not to hear of it lest you suffer the consequences. Is that absolutely clear?"

"Crystal," Nat hissed through clenched teeth, glowering up at Mystique and biting her tongue to keep from spitting directly between the pale indigo eyes. It was easier, and infinitely safer, to go along with her demands, at least for the time being. A long-fingered hand came arching toward her cheek and landed with a walloping slap, surprising a little shriek out of her, and leaving her too stunned to respond immediately.

"Well, I'm certainly glad the two of you got _that_ messiness cleared up," said a gruff voice at the door, and Nat whipped around to face the intruder. The sight with which she was greeted nearly floored her, and made her stomach begin to roil with a peculiar mixture of excitement and terrified perplexity. She had forgotten about the stinging pain in her cheek, and stared, wide-eyed.

Standing stiffly beside the entrance was a broad-chested, middle-aged man in conservative garb. His slacks were neatly pressed over his long, slim legs, and his sweater was thick, made of some dark, knotty material despite the growing heat of early summer. An angular face heralded stern eyes and a forehead graced with hoary, pointed brows. Sleek white hair offset the olive hue of his skin, and made him appear all the more startling against his dark clothing. Despite the efficiency and precision of his dress, however, his face was weathered, yet startlingly ardent.

Nat's heart nearly choked out her breath, and her pulse began to race with overwhelming intensity. He was older than the most recent photographs in Cerebro's database by several years, and he looked far less menacing sans cape and regal, wine-colored helmet, but he was recognizable all the same. There was something about the gleam in the zealous eyes, and the guardedly reserved way that he carried himself, that would have been familiar had he been dressed in rags and dumped on the street. His voice was deep and commanding, but he spoke with an odd note of neutrality, a cold undercurrent that both demanded authority and lulled a person's alertness to sleep. His was an oddly comfortable presence, unlike she might have expected it to be, but it seemed to make sense in retrospect. The silver hair, too, was not new to his older years, and was a prominent feature for identification, even to Nat's tired and somewhat overloaded brain.

"Y-you…"

"So you recognize me, then?" came his softly spoken reply. He walked around to the other side of the desk and elegantly lowered himself into the seat, tilting the power level in the room ever so slightly. Mystique looked momentarily confused, but remained at his side like a waiting servant with the notable exception of her irritated expression and her position on the edge of the desk. He went on as if he were shaking her hand, but in reality he kept his fingers twined delicately in his lap, unmoving. "My name is Eric Lensherr. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Fairbanks."

"Yes, I…I'm delighted to meet you, too, Mr. Lensherr."

"I had hoped it might be sooner, but…things have gotten in the way. I'm sure you understand," he said, lifting an eyebrow with a questioning lilt. "You were expecting me, were you not?" His gaze flickered accusatorily in Ms. Darkholme's direction, apparently angered that news of his visit might not have been correctly conveyed.

Nat shivered at the glare, and, despite her anger at Raven's barefaced meddling and officiousness, jumped in to save the principal from that frighteningly concentrated glare. "Oh, yes sir, I was told that you'd be coming. I just…lost track of time, that's all. I'm very sorry. Sir." She bit her tongue on the last word, feeling somehow obligated to utter it in his company.

He turned back to face her, nodding and steepling his hands. "Yes, alright then." He glanced again at Mystique. "Leave us, if you will."

Shock overtook the woman's expression, and her mouth opened and closed in a little circle as she searched for the appropriate words of indignant rebuttal. Her gaze was wounded but edged with resentment, a clearly evident note of antagonism in her eyes.

"_Now_, Raven."

Mystique's brows lowered, and she crossly glared at Nat, who was hardly able to quash a merry grin at the prospect of Darkholme being so humiliated. Huffing angrily, the red-headed shape-shifter was once again replaced by her human-looking counterpart, who stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Nat's smile finally escaped, but withered just as quickly when she realized that Mystique's dismissal had left her alone in the room with Magneto.

Nat smiled, coughing quietly to cover up her growing discomfort. Magneto seemed uninterested in returning the small gesture of compassion, but stared intently at her, his bright eyes boring into her interior.

"I-is there some reason in particular that you wanted to speak to me about, sir?" she asked, smiling wider and trying to appear accommodating. _The last thing I need_, she thought, _is to have _both_ of them angry with me_.

"Actually, there is." There was a long pause, and Nat almost yelped when the metallic teapot on the desk in front of her lifted apparently of its own will, and filled the two waiting teacups with steaming brown liquid. He smiled this time, but it wasn't a warm smile, and handed her one of the small porcelain vessels, which she accepted with rickety hands and held tightly. She lifted it to her lips and pretended to drink, not quite trusting her stomach to hold anything down.

"And…that is?"

He took a sip of his tea, gazing at her fixedly over the rim of the cup. "I want you to show me."

Nat blinked. Magneto's eyes were still. Nat blinked again. "I'm…sorry?"

"Show me what you can do." He placed his cup back down on the desktop, making a small clattering noise against the saucer. He rose from his seat and came to stand behind Nat, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Boil it."

"I—"

"Boil it."

Biting her lip, Nat concentrated for a moment, slowly rising the temperature of the tea. It came to a steady boil within moments, small brown bubbles rising and popping at the surface. She heard Magneto chuckle softly, and he patted her shoulder, coming around back to the desk to pick up a pencil. He held the narrow wooden cylinder a few inches in front of her nose, waving it back and forth a bit. "Now this."

Her eyes met his for a moment before she complied by reaching forward and tapping it lightly, and he dropped the flaming pencil just as it burned itself out. He glanced down at the desktop, where the pencil had been reduced to ash and a small metal ring, and the varnish on the desk had begun to discolor under the heat.

"Interesting, but unremarkable," he said under his breath, just loudly enough for her to hear.

She smiled and hiked up her sleeves, and within a moment her arms were engulfed by flames that stayed just far enough from her torso to keep from igniting her clothing. A strange smoke hovered around her, draping her in a golden haze. It was different than wood smoke, which was the signal of a substance being tortured and destroyed by fire, and smelled oddly sweet. At the sight, Magneto let out a hearty laugh. "Well, _that's_ a little better."

"I don't think it's a very good idea to do much more, alright? Not here, at least. It's dangerous to play with fire while you're indoors, you know." She shrugged as her arms began to cool, and the flames extinguished themselves. He paused for a moment, giving a small half-smile, and nodded, examining the unblemished white skin that remained as the flames vanished.

"A fascinating display, I'll give you that, but it's not exactly what I'd come to see." He folded his hands across his lap again, and watched her closely as she fidgeted in her seat.

Nat frowned, and shrugged again. "I'm not sure what to tell you, in that case."

"Make me _think_ it."

She gawked at him while at the same time trying valiantly to avert her stare. She had been hoping that he wouldn't ask for that kind of a display. "I…I'm not quite sure what you mean, sir."

"Yes, you are." He leaned forward, his unblinking stare meeting her panicky one. "Show me."

"Please, don't ask me to do it." Nat blinked back a sudden flush of moisture in her eyes, biting her lip and trying to keep from crying. "I don't think I can do it on command, just like _that_." She snapped her fingers. "It…it's too new."

"I don't care how 'new' it is. You were apparently capable enough to use it in self-defense back at the Institute."

Nat's eyes popped open wide, and she stared across the desktop at him, her heart pounding and her brain urging her to leap to her feet and flee. "I don't know w-what you mean." She gulped, and he noted it with a satisfied glance.

"It must have been an extraordinary exhibition. The technique that you employed to deal with Xavier's red-haired telepath-in-training, and the old man himself, was something that he was doubtlessly unprepared for. I know how you did it, and I think you do, too, but you seem rather determined not to allow me a better look at your abilities." He smiled, content with his conclusion, and eyed her cagily. "Pyrokinesis is, supposedly, a difficult mutation to master. I suppose it's a little frightening to be the first proven case of a mutant with not only pyrokinesis but pyrotelepathy as well."

Nat gulped again, staring down at her lap. "'Pyrotelepathy', huh? So…that's what it's called?"

Magneto nodded. "It's a term rarely used, due to an evident scarcity of applicable candidates. In fact, you may be the only genuine article."

"I didn't know there was an entire name reserved just for…_it_," Nat whispered.

"Yes, well, there is," he spat out impatiently. "Now, would you care to give a demonstration?" She glanced up at him, warily gauging the expression in his eyes, and nodded slowly. He raised his hand to her shoulder again, and patted her there. "Natalie. Come now. Make me think it."

Clearing her throat, she pressed her lips together and nodded again. "Close your eyes. I think I can f-focus better that way." He complied, his jaw firmly set and his mind prepared for the worst, but still not entirely equipped for what she had to dish out. "Relax. It'll make it easier. I'm still new at this, after all."

There was a moment of chill in Nat's mind, as the barriers she had erected days earlier at the mansion slowly, painstakingly melted away, leaving her mentally bare and vulnerable. She could still feel the echoes of Jean's mind rattling at the edges of her own consciousness, fighting to get through a blockade that neither of the girls had understood at the time, and she shivered. Then, gently, she let the tendrils creep outward, singing the pathway that they took.

She entered his mind for only a moment, and his thoughts whirled back, shrieking with pain. She could not read his thoughts, or tell him anything the way that Jean or Xavier might be able to, but she could recognize the paths of cognition, and could sort them out better than most would be able to. All she could do, with a shockingly powerful strength, was send in her flames.

Nat hadn't seen many thoughts before and, with the exception of Lily and the professor, her intimate knowledge of the core of another's mind was relatively nonexistent. Magneto's mind was different than Xavier's. He of course lacked the professor's powerful mental skills, but his passionate thoughts, and his aching rage, were far stronger and more orderly than anything she had experienced in the mild-mannered millionaire's brain. Lily's mind, too, had been different, if only because it had been so much younger and had had so many fewer superfluous interjections of reality to alter its flow.

Here, for barely a moment, she was exposed to the thoughts of a dangerous man, one whom she could never fully understand. It was now, in this frightening glimpse, that she sent forth her fire, and scorched at the edge his mind.

The connection was severed almost as quickly as it had been made, and he fell backward in his chair, his cheeks pallid and sweating, his hands shaking and the whites of his eyes showing all around each iris. There was a look of bright fear in his expression, and fantastically glowing excitement.

Slowly, a grin spread across his face.

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*Sigh*…Okay, okay, lesson learned! I will try to avoid writing chapters while falling asleep next time, okay? ^_^ In response to some concerns raised by my wonderfully response-prone readers, here's some info on my story that I neglected to tell everyone:

"BlackWido13" pointed out my first area lacking explanation: Doug and Kurt's thumb-wrestling without Doug freaking out about Kurt's fuzzy, three-digit hands. There is an explanation folks, I just haven't shared it! Doug Ramsey is a mutant codenamed "Cypher", and a canon creation from the comics. He's not in the show as a confidante of the Institute kiddies, but it's _fiction_, nein? I allowed him, in my story which is _always_ liable to editing, to play a character who _does_ know about Kurt's mutation (hence, the thumb-war capability). "Graymalkin" apparently knows his/her stuff, and shared this tidbit with the readers in the review section (thanks, BTW). But, to avoid confusion, I have updated this part of the story to reflect the fact that Kurt can't be touched.

"K" pointed out a timeline "error": the Evo universe does _not_ officially include the Friends of Humanity group. For those ever-diligent people who were aggravated by this, here's the deal: I am _completely_ aware that the F.O.H. were _not_ Evo canon during season one, but if you haven't yet noticed, I tend to blend universes slightly to take advantage of plot turns that might otherwise not be possible. Hence the appearance of Hank McCoy in his earlier, non-Beastie form on Muir Island and the slight tweaking of ages amongst the students. Oh, that pesky "creative license"… ^_~


	49. Hadephobia

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**Chapter Forty-Nine: Hadephobia**

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With her fingers clasped tightly around the edge of a mustard-colored lunch tray, Nat sidestepped a cheese sandwich on the linoleum floor and moved blindly forward into the cafeteria mob. Distracted, she didn't notice the trail of carrot sticks that she left from the lunch line to the utensil table, where she also left behind her napkin and plastic Spork. Around her, hundreds of lipstick-coated sophomores and the bored-looking upper classmen, shouting to their friends and banging on the fronts of stubborn vending machines, milled about.

Her feet felt like lumps of asphalt glued haphazardly to the stumps of her legs. Her eyes refused to blink. With a vague sense of the forgettable that has crept unbidden to the surface, her thoughts still rang with the aftershocks of something strangely familiar but as faint as steam, like someone waking from a dream that they didn't quite want to remember. Her heart had ceased its rapid thumping and become frighteningly lethargic, leaving her with an uncomfortable stillness in her limbs and an anomalous bubble of rime behind her collarbone.

Looking back on the meeting in Mystique's office, she couldn't recall a whispered word of confirmation and not a nerve within her cluttered brain could conjure up the memory of even a tiny nod, but her recollection of his satisfied half-smile and the look in his composed blue eyes was vivid. Her muscles felt depleted and cool where his hand had rested upon her shoulder and fatigue had descended once again. Lord, how she was tired of that.

Nat wasn't entirely positive just how far she had gone, how deeply she had plunged herself into a realm of discomfiting deceit, when she agreed to his proposal. Truly, only God knew for sure if she _had_ agreed at all. Perhaps she had merely shrugged, or given him an unperturbed "I'll sleep on it". Maybe she hadn't actually signed herself up for a task she was sure that she'd regret, and probably sooner than later. With any luck, she had imagined the entire encounter, and she could go back home with Evan and Rogue and Kitty and _Kurt_ to procrastinate on homework and fight over television privileges. And maybe, just maybe, she'd wake up tomorrow on a marshmallow cloud and float above her troubles for the rest of time.

Then again, maybe she just needed to be smacked around with a big stick labeled "Reality, dumbass – get used to it!"

Her fingers tightened on her tray and her knuckles blanched when a devastatingly familiar scene caught her eye. Around a table at the far end of the cafeteria, looking intent and conversational, were her former teammates from the institute. Sickness filled her belly at the thought of what she may have done, what Magneto may have convinced her to do, but she bit her lip and tried not to dwell on it.

Kitty and Rogue were embroiled in deep discussion, each girl looking purposeful enough to scare away any other students who might have considered taking a seat with them. Evan straddled a chair and had his chin resting on the seat's back, a frown forming a dimple between his brows, and stared at the two speaking girls. Kurt, across from all three of them and facing in Nat's direction, was looking faintly distracted and more than a little nervous, and kept glancing toward the doors. When his eyes met hers his face lit up with an unintentional smile and he jerked his head suggestively toward the exit, trying not to garner any extra attention from his tablemates.

A chill raced down the length of Nat's spine, an unpleasant sensation to one whose body was becoming more and more comfortable in the heat of fire. Numbness was building in her skull and she tried to think fast, but it was as if mud and marbles were sifting through the wrinkles in her brain. Biting her lip, she shook her head and mouthed: "I can't," trying not to focus on the crestfallen expression his face exuded.

She forced a smile, feeling the corner of her lips twitching. "Later," she added, and he seemed to relax enough to nod and send her a tiny wink. Kitty and Rogue didn't notice, but Evan glanced quickly over his shoulder, giving Nat barely enough time to duck out of his line of site behind the burly back of a nearby football player. Bunching her shoulders and feeling her neck tighten almost painfully, she skittered away to another corner for her lookout. It was time to have a little talk with the blue-eyed speed demon.

She noticed him quickly by his recognizable shock of snow-colored hair, and heat flushed her face, anger almost overpowering her. Her cheeks pinkened as she strode hastily over, forgetting to be cautious of who spotted her now, and stood behind him for a moment or two. After all the thinking she had done about what she would say in this moment, and all of the fury that strained in her lungs, she couldn't think of a single angry word to blurt in his face. Instead, she swung around to the other side of the table and took the empty seat there, slamming her tray onto the table and sitting down with force and conviction that seemed to startle a smile out of him.

"You knew all about this, didn't you, Maximoff?" she finally sputtered, leaning in over the table to keep her voice from carrying too far.

Surprise clouded his features as he frowned over at her. "W-what?"

"Magneto!" A girl in a wool jacket looked up from her meal and scowled in their direction, and Nat's cheeks colored further. She lowered her voice and continued. "His little…plan. How long have you known about what he wants me for, _hmm_? Did he just tell you today, or have you been in on it all along?" She cocked her head to the side, and sunlight filtered in through the skylight to play off of her hair. If she hadn't been wearing an expression of absolute rage, she might have looked pretty.

Pietro stabbed a soggy ravioli square on the end of his Spork and stared down at his food, trying to appear uninterested and even confused. "I haven't got any idea what you're talking about, Fairbanks."

"Typical."

The steadfast denial in his features trembled ever so slightly as he shifted in his seat, bumping the leg of the table and sending a spray of milk across the tabletop, but the gleam of anger remained sharp and bright. "Knock it off, already! The whole world isn't involved in some sort of conspiracy against you, for Christ's sake!" With one hand, he swung his napkin like a crude matador's cape, pretending to be fending off monsters and villains in the air. Across the room, a single pair of dark eyes lingered on the quietly chatting teens a bit longer than necessary. Kurt, trying not to be seen by either Nat or his tablemates, turned and exited the cafeteria quickly before he could be stopped.

"But _you_ are!" She narrowed her green eyes, jabbing a finger at his chest. "Figure it _out_! I'm with the Brotherhood because I _have_ to be, not because I was invited or because I thought it sounded like a good time." Slowly, Nat dropped back into her seat, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples as if they hurt her. "There's just too much. Mystique couldn't hate me more, you…obviously have _problems _with me, and now this." She squeezed her eyes shut tightly to keep the light from seeping in. "I'll be damned if I go through with this."

Pietro licked his lips and tried to avert his gaze. "Oh, come on. It's not all that bad."

"You don't know whether or not it's bad!" Nat shouted again. She frowned, feeling the fury in her gut subside a bit as she stared down at Pietro's bowed head and the gaunt shoulders that seemed to pull inward as he shrank against the table. "Okay, fine. Based on your logic, maybe it's not," she paused to breathe in deeply, "but to me it is."

Raising a white eyebrow, Pietro smiled lopsidedly and nodded. "I know how that goes." He dabbed the spilled milk delicately with his napkin. "You've just gotta look at things from a different perspective. If you just stopped seeing the world as if you were a traitor—" she glared at him at this and he rose his hands defensively "—and tried to think of this as a chance at an entirely new start, things might look a lot different. Stop imagining that you need to make it up to _them_, and maybe you'll be able to move on."

"I do owe them a lot, though. Even you can't deny that." She sighed. "Besides, that's not what it's about right now, Maximoff. Not anymore," Nat said softly, trying to keep her voice from wavering. She clenched her teeth and tried not to make eye contact with her fair-haired companion, who was diligently staring at her with a measure of intensity in his expression that made her start to panic. There was something in blue eyes today that made her distinctly nervous, and urged her to glance away. There was the promise of something dangerous in cornflower steel this afternoon. She paused to take a deep, wavering breath. "Tell me what you knew, even if I won't like the answer, and even if you don't want me to find out." Her chin dropped to her chest, and she shook her head slowly as if she were trying half-heartedly to loosen something inside. "I need to know."

"You need to know _what_?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stop it."

"No, really. What—" he swallowed hard "—what is it that you're so determined to find out? Maybe this is for the best…you know, like starting over? You haven't got anything to feel bad about. I mean, you've got a whole new chance here. Why spoil it by trying to dig around in what's done and over with?" He fiddled with his utensils, looking nervous and unaware of the movement and action around him. His face was hazy, his gaze unsteady, and his words were getting quicker and less easily distinguishable. Nat's breath, too, quickened at her sudden realization: something was distinctly amiss here.

"Because I _need_ to know, Pietro." He winced at the use of his first name, which she noticed but tried to ignore. "You know what he wants me for, don't you?"

With a loud sigh, Pietro slapped his hand down on the tabletop and stared across at her. She didn't flinch. "Why do you care so much?"

"I don't think anyone _else_ really knows what…what he asked of me, except maybe Mystique. Magneto might've planned this whole thing out, but I doubt that he pulled it off by himself. Somebody had to have helped him, and I think that someone was _you_. All I want to know is what _you know." He fidgeted slightly, and a flare of anger blazed up in her cheeks. "Fine. Don't tell me. I _already_ know. In that case, why were you willing to go along with it?" Her voice remained curiously steady, stanch despite the anger that threatened to creep in. The thirst for understanding won out over the desire to slap Pietro in his arrogant little face, and she tried to make that clear to him in her silent body language and the look in her eyes._

Practically fuming now, Pietro launched himself out of his seat and started storming away. "Just drop it, alright? So I know! It's not like he's asking you to, I don't know, sell children into slavery or something!"

"No, but he wants me to abuse my powers!" Nat added, louder than she should have but not quite shouting. Again, the wool-coated girl looked up in surprise, and Nat blushed once more. Pietro, however, glared at the onlooker until she rose to her feet and scurried away, apparently terrified by this oddly timed and bizarre-sounding argument.

Turning his back to her, Pietro stared at the floor, shoving his hands in his pockets, his outburst quelled almost immediately. His hands lodged within the denim compartments at his hips, he could make out the faint, healing scars on his palms, the remnants of a fire he'd started not long ago, and felt a crushing sense of guilt. "God, you even _sound_ like one of them…"

"And what's so bad about that?" Nat demanded, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Nothing. Except you might one day regret it." He kicked at the leg of an empty table, making a paper cup teeter and fall to the floor. He turned slowly back to face her, coming in to close up the several feet of empty space between them lest they be overheard, and whispered, "Look. I don't want you to explore this too far. When Magneto wants something, he goes out and gets it. If you go along you'll be guaranteed his favor. He's a powerful man. He can make you powerful, too."

Nat's eyes widened and her mouth popped open. It was a few long seconds before she was able to make herself form coherent words. "You…you can't be serious."

"Of course I am. You've already agreed to it anyway, haven't you?"

Shame cascaded down upon her. "Yes…but I was…I mean, I _had_ to."

"You didn't _have_ to do anything. You went along because it makes perfect sense." He clamped his hands into fists to try to ignore the mental sting of those scars. "All you've got to do is help get rid of Xavier's threat if the old man comes to. It's as simple as that. You haven't got to kill him or even hurt him. Just get rid of his ability to go into people's heads. Easy as pie, you know? I know you can do it. Just a few mental fire barriers and voila! All you'll be doing is eliminating the possibility for future conflict, after all."

Nat furrowed her brow and glared at him, beginning to tremble. "By eliminating one side's ability to fight back! Would you think of it the same way if Xavier were to propose that I render _Magneto's_ powers useless?"

Pietro's upper lip twitched into an awkward smile. "That couldn't happen. Magneto's powers aren't…in his head the way the professor's are. Xavier's become too dependent on his abilities, anyway. It would probably be good for him to stop being able to make everything go his way all the time." He stepped a bit closer and leaned casually against a table so the two were face to face, a bit too close for Nat's comfort. "Come on. It'll be easy."

"This _isn't_ easy. It's _horrible_! How can he even ask me to do it? How can _you_?" She shot herself backward by slamming her palms against his chest, making him stagger backward a few feet. "It was _you_ who told him I'd be a part in it in the first place, wasn't it? And you probably pretended to be my friend just so you could con me into this bloody nasty plan of his!"

Pietro reached forward and grasped her shoulders to keep himself from falling after the jolt of her shove, feeling her hot skin beneath the fabric of her shirt. "I never said that you would do it! I never made any promises. He figured out who you were by himself." He glanced around and lowered his voice, which seemed almost to echo as the cafeteria began to clear. Neither of them had heard the bells that ushered the students back to class, and neither made any movement to obey them. "And I most certainly never 'pretended' to be your friend!"

"Of _course_ not," she snapped, yanking her arms from his grasp. "You just pretended that you cared enough not to let me get killed. What does a person like you know about friendship, anyway? From what I've seen, you only consort with people you think will be some sort of benefit to you! That's why you dragged me into this spider web and let Magneto get his claws on me, isn't it? You know that if you deliver a prize into his hands he'll reward you for it eventually!"

"Knock it off!" He bellowed, a few strands of colorless hair falling into his face. His pale cheeks looked pinker than normal, his mouth turned into a snarl. "There's no way in hell I'd let you go into this if I thought it would put you in danger! All I did was make sure that you'd come to _us_!"

"Fine, then," Nat said as she waved her hand dismissively. "You go ahead and see it that way. You gave me some clothes and let me off in the city, where you knew I'd have no chance of getting along by myself, so I'd come crawling back in the end. Brilliant plan, Mr. Maximoff."

"Hey, it was a lot better than that!"

Eyes narrowed, Nat glowered at the fairer teen, metaphorical fire dancing in her eyes. She might not have noticed if it wasn't for the sudden paling of Pietro's frenetic face. "_What_?"

Pietro, white as the frost on a December morning, glanced away, looking noticeably embarrassed and frustrated at having let something slip. "Nothing."

"No, what? It was _something_, I can tell," she spat out quickly, crossing her arms and staring at him.

He peered back and then down at his feet, trying to gauge her reaction, to temper the beams that he had so unwisely begun to trample across. Nat made herself stony-faced and stared back with resolve, her determination to hear his answer more than matching his will to keep quiet. Two wills rubbed against one another, two rough-fronted granite beasts bearing down on each other's jugulars. "I…" He paused to gulp, a lump of solid apprehension drifting down his throat.

"Tell me, dammit! Or is this just more of your self-important bragging?"

Irritation overcame the embarrassment and wariness in Pietro's eyes when his head snapped up to face her. "Screw off, you snotty little brat! You'd be homeless if it weren't for me, or stuck back at that stuffy old mansion being groomed into Xavier's perfect mutie paper doll!"

"What…" Nat paused a moment, making sure she had heard correctly, her mouth open in surprise and the bright jade orbs of her eyes looking clear and brilliant with distress. Could he possibly have meant that? "What do you mean?"

Pietro blinked, his tongue dry and stiff, and stared back at Natalie. He tried to think of something to say but choked on the words.

"_Why_, Pietro? Why would I still be at the institute if it weren't for you?" Frenzy fluttered past her gaze and her hands flew about her face in disquiet like a pair of startled creatures. The silence of the emptied room seemed to echo and expand, filling all the cracks and crevices in the walls with a shrieking, overwhelming hush. They stared at one another, fear of discovery in one pair of eyes and fear of the truth in the other. "I thought I had no choice but to come with you, after the others _abandoned_ me." Sarcasm rang in her tone, a harsh parody of the friendly, slightly nervous voice he recognized as hers.

There was the longest of pauses, both staring at the other with an expression that spoke more than words would have done. Slowly, in defiant submission and apology, he rose his hands to chest level, splaying them like crucified criminals. Her stare delayed itself on his long olive fingers is if it had become caught on the ridges of the tiny, healing burns that were apparent there, now that she'd gotten a closet look. A random thought of something she had learned long ago from a girl at summer camp fluttered past her mind, and she absently noted that his love line had been severed. His palms were slightly pink and raw with repaired skin, the bandages so recently removed that the flesh looked clean and newly born. They were the scars of fire. Nat knew them well. She'd seen them before. More than once she had actually caused them.

Reality rose to choke the frantic-looking girl and suffocate the last few bands of clear-headedness that held her in place. She wavered on her feet. The temperature rose around the two, making the air shimmer and dance with heat, but Pietro seemed unfazed as he stared back at Nat's gleaming green eyes, which glared with an angry blaze of their own. Bottomless pride welled in her chest when she realized that she hadn't roasted him alive.

A deep breath calmed her racing thoughts. "You tell me not to be afraid of my own potential evils," she whispered, carefully enunciating each word, "because you're creating your own. Even more, _you_ don't want to be alone in them." Slowly, she shook her head and his broken-secret hands were lowered sluggishly to his sides. "I'm not a good Christian, Pietro. I don't fear a hell made by God." A smile skittered across her lips, and he stared back in blunt astonishment. "I only fear the one I make myself, and that's much worse."

Blinking back dry tears that she feared would fall but took no action to do so, Nat moved backward toward the doors at the rear of the cafeteria, which by now was nothing more than an empty room populated by tables, chairs and two mutant teenagers. Pietro stood rooted in place as he watched her exit, not realizing that he may never have a chance to tell her the things that desired so much to surge forth from his lips.


	50. A Woman Scorned

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"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,

Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

_-William Congreve_

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**Chapter Fifty: A Woman Scorned**

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Kurt Wagner squinted just slightly so he could see through the semi-tinted windows of the Bayville High cafeteria. Inside, by a table at the far end of the room, he could make out two vaguely visible and almost watery figures through the murky glass, one dark-haired and the other fair, framed by a limp length of orange vinyl curtain. His heart felt a pang when the two came close, almost touching along their lengths, but a flood of relaxation passed quickly through him when the smaller of the two jerked away and sent the male shadow stumbling and nearly falling backward. He felt his mouth go dry and licked his lips as the two continued to converse, pressing his forehead to the window in the hopes that he'd get a better view.

"Kurt?" asked a female voice from not far behind him. He didn't respond, his thoughts too consumed by his current attention. "Kurt, what are you doing?"

Surprised, he swung around to face Doug Ramsey and Kitty, both looking confused at his apparent shock. He tried to grin nonchalantly but it came off looking embarrassed instead. Kitty cocked her head to one side, frowning, and clutched her books a little tighter to her chest. Her brown ponytail spilled over the edge of her pale pink collar, and her eyebrow was raised in curiosity. Doug, smiling to calm the awkward tension, reached out and patted Kurt's shoulder. "Class is starting, man. You're gonna be late if you don't hightail it on outta here."

Glancing away nervously and stepping slightly in front of the window, Kurt attempted to casually block their vision of the scene that he had been so faithfully viewing. "_Ja_, I, uh, I know. I vas just finishing my…lunch." He reached into his backpack, propped up against the side of the building, and pulled out the nearest plastic bag, which just happened to contain a half-dried glob of Silly Putty. He stared down at the unappetizing plastic-wrapped lump in his palm, and a quiet laugh escaped him. He held up the bag and chuckled. "See?"

Doug joined in after only a moment's hesitation, laughing falsely for Kurt's benefit, and elbowed Kitty between the ribs to get her to do the same. The slender brunette yelped but recovered quickly and forced a little giggle, muttering, "Uh, yeah, Kurt, that's so _totally_ believable." She rubbed her side with one hand and glared at Doug.

The three teens stood in awkward silence for a moment, Kitty gazing inquisitively at her housemate. Doug swallowed hard and caught Kitty's eye, tipping his head back toward the school to indicate that she ought to leave him alone with the distracted-looking German. Kitty's eyes narrowed momentarily and she came close to protesting when she thought better of it and nodded. "Well, I, uh…I've got to get to biology, then. I'll see you guys later." Sounding unnaturally strained, she made her exit and disappeared through the side doors beyond a large rhododendron bush, glancing behind her every few seconds to try to catch a glimpse of whatever was making them all behave so oddly. The door swung slowly in her wake.

Doug took a seat on a nearby bench at the edge of the courtyard, ignoring the irritated look on Kurt's face. He lifted his empty hands in a sign of non-interference and winked. "Don't worry about me, man. You can go ahead and spy on your girlfriend all you want while I'm here."

Despite the holographic projection that shielded Kurt's true visage, his muscles twisted into a surprised and sheepish expression mirrored perfectly by the artificial face that graced his features. "I…I vasn't–"

"Oh, _please_."

"Alright, fine," Kurt huffed as he rolled his eyes and dropped beside the blonde-haired boy onto the seat, still trying to make out the vague shapes just beyond the window glass. "I vas spying on her. But it's not like she's in the shower or something. She's out in public. Is there a law that makes that illegal?"

There was a long moment of silence. Doug ignored his question. He sighed and leaned back so his weight was balanced on his palms, casually propping up his heels on the edge of the bench. He watched his companion's profile closely, noting the drawn nature of Kurt's forehead, the determined set of his eyes and jaw. "Dude, why do you care so much about what she's up to? Kitty told me about what happened and…well, if you don't mind me saying so, it seems to me like it would be better for you to just forget about her."

Kurt whipped around, glaring at the slightly younger boy, who had suddenly taken it upon himself to act as a counselor. Seeing the shock on Doug's features, his anger subsided into an uncomfortable frown, and he sighed. Her arms felt heavy. "I _do_ mind you saying so, actually."

Running a hand through his short, wavy hair, made flat from months of wearing a baseball cap outside of classroom hours, Doug sighed and shook his head slowly as if he were trying to comprehend exactly what was making Kurt behave this way. "Not too many people around here know what went down at the institute, Wagner, and I'm still not sure why you and Kitty have confided in me. I mean, I know I'm probably the only mutant at this school that doesn't have an alliance with either you guys or the others, but…oh, whatever. Anyway, I appreciate that, really I do, so I feel bad getting involved in stuff that's not my business. But still, everyone's worried about you. Kitty told me what that girl _did_. Now your professor's laid up and you're still worrying about what's going on with Natalie. All I'm saying is that I don't get your devotion, you know? Mixed up loyalties, it seems."

Kurt slumped forward on the bench, grasping his hands together and squeezing his eyes shut. "Something's happening to her, and I don't vant her to get hurt. That's all. She's in a dangerous situation that she might not be able to handle simply because everyone blames her for something that she might not even have done." He rubbed his eyes with his palms, unwilling to look in Doug's direction. "Everyone jumps to blame her for vat happened to the professor, but there's nothing more than circumstantial evidence that says she did it."

Doug sighed. "Maybe so, but what about her…you know, _preoccupation with that Maximoff guy?" Doug added, his voice low and anxious. He hadn't wanted to ask that question and he'd put it off as long as he could. The way Kurt cringed just served to make him feel worse. "You really might not want to be involved with someone who can't keep her legs shut."_

"That's none of your business," Kurt whispered shortly, keeping his face turned away, too lost in his own fears to defend her. "Now vy don't you go to class? You've got no reason to be here."

There was a long pause before Doug stood beside his seated friend, his hand hovering just a few inches above his shoulder. Slowly, he withdrew and made his way into the school, glancing back a few times as Kitty had done. His shoelaces dragged behind him on the sidewalk like lethargic worms, making a quiet rustling sound as he made his hesitant departure.

Alone in the courtyard, Kurt sighed. There was no breeze to cool the early summer air, and he had begun to sweat. Unable to look back up at the window, he stared down at his feet. They always looked strange to him at the end of his artificially humanoid legs, small and incapable of balancing. It was peculiar to look down at one's own body and see what wasn't really there, and it had never truly become second nature. Around his feet he could see the cracks in the pavement, and he thought about the shapes that they made. There was a rabbit on its haunches, and beside it a girl with a basket under her arm. And there was a dog wearing a dress and a large flowered hat, boarding a train.

Kurt laughed softly to himself and rubbed his eyes. Imagination, again.

At least now all he imagined were harmless things.

A sudden loud, banging sound caught his attention and he glanced up, his eye catching on something he had been waiting to see. Her legs moving quickly and her hair streaming behind her like a dark russet banner, Nat was racing away from the cafeteria almost as rapidly as her feet could carry her. Kurt leaped to a standing position and moved to follow when another figure appeared in the doorway between the cafeteria and the courtyard, watching Nat flee, keeping a considerable distance between them despite himself.

Rage flooded Kurt's body, barely quelled, when the second person turned and noticed him. Both young men stood perfectly still, the tension between them sparking with barely contained violence. The clear blue eyes widened in surprise as they met the dark ones before taking on their more characteristic self-important gleam. Pietro shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned lopsidedly at Kurt, who felt the desire to launch himself, feline-fashion, at the pale boy's lean, defenseless throat.

"Well, well. What have _you_ been up to?"

"I never thought _you'd_ be the one to ask me that, Maximoff."

A short, brusque laugh escaped Pietro's lips. "Why does everyone feel the need to call me that, today? Seriously, I've got an actual _name. No one even bothers with the 'mister' anymore."_

"Und I'm sure you deserve to be called by it, considering how gentlemanly you always behave."

"Ouch. Really. That hurt."

"Vy von't you leave her alone?"

"What makes you think she really wants me to?"

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek, holding in his own urge to fight, crush and destroy in careful check. It would be so easy to fire one sudden punch, maybe when Pietro wasn't expecting it. He might not be as fast as his quick-talking gypsy, but his reflexes could certainly be classified as inhuman. Instead, he took one careful breath and stood his ground, watching over his nemesis' shoulder at the distant female figure that was rapidly becoming smaller as the time wore on.

Neither of the boys noticed the dark-windowed van that peeled out of the parking lot and followed her.

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The house stood before her like an asymmetrical giant, eaves hanging darkly over old stained glass windows on the third story and tapered peaks poking up at the blue sky. Paint peeled, several layers and colors showing through in some places, and a few of the windows were patched up with cardboard and pieces of plywood. A large, faded sign reading "Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House" stood at the edge of the lawn.

Nat's teeth clenched tightly together and her tongue darted out between them when they parted, moistening her waterless lips. A slithering sound trailed behind her as the grass crinkled and died underfoot. Her own beads of sweat popped and evaporated before her skin began to dry and produced no more offensive dampness.

The front door made no effort to resist her, blowing off its ancient hinges with little more than a painful groan as a blast of heat sent it tearing out of the jamb, clattering against the stairs inside. Her hair whipped about her face as a hot wind began to swirl around her, smoky and golden, and she drank in the smell of her own power. Her eyes rolled back in her skull as smoke poured into them, stinging, but caused no pain. Her clothing had begun to flutter against her flesh, threatening to ignite as the grass had. The headache that had begun to throb between her temples had all but vanished, leaving in its wake only a dull memory, a ceaseless thumping that came and went with the beating of her heart. Her brow was creased with determination.

She took the steps slowly, dragging her toes on the runner and carelessly sidestepping the door where it smoldered at her feet. She found herself standing at the entrance to her bedroom and entered silently, the hiss of heat sizzling in the air. She surveyed the room carefully, catching sight of the corner of a shoebox peering out from underneath the bed.

Last time she had seen it, her breath had caught in her throat. This time, it allowed her to exhale slowly, easing a pinching weight off of her chest.

She dropped to her knees, ignoring the crackle of protest from the carpeting below her, and eased the top off of the box, slipping her hands inside and removing a pair of elbow-length leather gloves. Her fingers slid gently over the cool material and she allowed her flesh to cool enough that she could slip her palms inside the gloves, flexing her fists. They fit snuggly, hugging the curves and angles of her knuckles and arm. She didn't pause long enough to wonder why she had donned them, and rose and exited the room, the paint on the armoire bubbling as she made her way out.

The door to Mystique's rarely occupied bedroom stood at the top of the staircase, and Nat approached it as she backtracked down the hallway, passing Pietro's empty bedroom on the way. The knob rattled and the metal groaned, the wood around it hissing as a thin ribbon of smoke rose from the keyhole.

Nat stood stoically at Mystique's door for a long moment, brushing her gloved fingertips across the grain of the wood before hastily blowing her way past the obstacle. Like the door that now lay uselessly on the stairs below her, this one was hurtled backward and landed with a smashing sound on the carpet, splintering and emitting the smelly odors of burned pine and stain. Behind her, the trails of smoke had dissipated from the bedrooms down the hall, but the scent of something recently burned lingered.

She cast her eyes back and forth, taking in the opulence of the room with a grunt of disgust. A lushly embroidered bedspread adorned a king-sized mattress on a four-poster bed, and exotic lamps with swinging chains would normally have bathed the room in golden light. An enormous Oriental rug covered much of the floor. There was a large cherry-wood bedside table and a matching desk, carved, it seemed, out of one large hunk of wood and polished until it gleamed. Several stacks of papers, photographs and manila folders scattered the desktop in front of a sophisticated-looking computer.

A dark grin spread across Nat's features when she noticed her name adorning one of those folders, and lifted it gently with leather-covered hands. It was thin, and she flipped through it rapidly. There were photographs of herself, and medical and family records that she was surprised to find, recording everything from her eye color and date of birth to the specifics of her particular mutation and even the approximate date of her first menstruation. She found photographs of her hometown, a blueprint of Xavier's mansion that highlighted her bedroom and newspaper clippings referring, however briefly, to the destruction of a small British private school. A glint of metal and plastic caught her eye as a CD fell to the floor at her feet, and she paused for just a moment before bending to pick up the escapee from her file.

Frowning, she turned the disc over and over in her fingers, examining it as if doing so would reveal its contents. Her heart beat wildly behind her ribs and she swallowed hard, reaching out to insert the disc into the slot of the waiting drive.

She stood at the desk rather than sitting in the high-backed chair, drumming her fingers nervously on the desktop as she read. She swallowed the words, devoured them, spitting out those that seemed unworthy and trying to digest those that managed to make sense in her rush. Most of it was unimportant to her, she quickly deduced, but one particular file caught her attention and held it tightly.

_Psychic obliteration.__ Inability to resist. Living weapon of mass destruction. _

Her heart had begun to race. Her lips had gone cold.

_Psychic obliteration.___

It was all there, outlined clearly and in plain text on the screen. Magneto's plan, including references to a prophecy about a mind of fire, a weapon that could be used to destroy the enemies of freedom and natural selection. There were several series of e-mails saved there, too: many between Magneto and Mystique, quite a few from someone that referred to him or herself only as Destiny, and even a few labeled with the despised name of Pietro Maximoff.

_Inability to resist.___

Fury seethed inside her. A strangled cry was choked out of her throat, but tears refused to fall. Her fist lashed out, slamming through the computer's LCD monitor in a crackle of electricity and snapping wires, and she roughly removed the disc from the drive before pocketing it and sending the computer tipping gracelessly onto the floor. The chair was overturned and lost a leg, and the bedspread, down pillows and luxurious bed curtains were consumed in a wave of flame that was extinguished quickly as its maker turned her attention away and slammed her arm through the plaster of the wall. Blood trickled between her knuckles inside the glove but she ignored the pain. The only thing that held her attention was her desire to cause as much damage as she could without actually burning the place down, and even that mildly contained concern was beginning to matter less and less.

_Living weapon of mass destruction.___

In her state of rage, she didn't hear the silver van pull up across the street on screeching tires, or the slamming of the doors and the muffled curses of men as they donned protective gear. She didn't hear them pause as they stepped over the destroyed door or the pounding of their footsteps as they raced up the stairs. She was deaf to the sound of weapons being trained on her back.

She didn't hear the tell-tale _click_ of the newly-invented inhibitor collar as it was popped open.

She didn't hear them coming for her.


	51. Ogien

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**Chapter Fifty-One: Ogień**

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There was very little remaining in the universe now, but it was still too much. It was a universe of numbing terror, a cold weight on her chest where metal bands of some kind kept a strange, bulky apparatus attached to her neck, and the darkness of thick fabric covering her face. Muffled voices were just beyond the edge of her hearing, save a few unhelpful words that would drift in from time to time. A spear of vomit stung in her throat and made it hard to breathe properly. Bruises had swollen her ankles to calf-width, where strange hands had held her and bruised her to keep her from kicking. Rough Nylon rope chafed and burned on her wrists, trussing her up in a humiliating display. An old spare tire was jabbing her in the back from underneath the spot where she had been flung, resistless. Someone laughed at a joke they heard on the radio, and she heard one of them mention a disc. The fear that it should have elicited was virtually absent.

She couldn't think of anything besides the cold, and the darkness, and the unshakeable feeling that she was being taken farther and farther away from Kurt.

And that damn _thing_ on her neck!

Groaning softly, she blacked out again.

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"Vasn't it enough to try to convince her to leave us? Did you really have to force her into this little game?"

Fury raced across the thinner boy's features, his pale lips curling into a snarl. "I've done no more than _you have!"_

Kurt didn't have nearly enough time to dodge the hands that came lunging toward his chest with inhuman speed.

Letting out a strangled choke, he lurched backward, landing sharply on his tailbone and bouncing, pain arcing along his spine. His tail tightened along his leg in a spasm, and he fought to regain the breath that had been violently expelled from his lungs. Staring up at the fair, inverted triangle that looked down on him from above, he emitted an animalistic growl that surprised even him. White eyebrows knit quickly together and Kurt could make out a gleam in blue eyes, but the glare of the sun behind the figure obscured it with a strange, blurry halo.

"Knock me down all you vant, Quicksilver, but you had better stay avay from her," he panted, his breath finally rushing into his lungs with a jagged gasp.

"You don't seem to be in a good position to be barking orders, fuzzball."

Ignoring the stab at the small of his back, Kurt leaped to his feet with astonishing agility and backpedaled slightly, placing a meter or so of space between himself and his adversary. The two young men stood staring at one another, something even more primal than jealousy, a menacing glow, flashing in their eyes.

"Just keep avay," Kurt rumbled, his body shaking with the effort he had to exercise to avoid slamming head-first into Maximoff's midsection.

Pietro was unable to keep a complacent smirk from surfacing. "I can't do that. She lives with me, after all."

A sharp hiss rose from Kurt's throat and he bore his teeth. He started to say something, but broke of with a disgusted snarl and tossed his balled fists into the air in frustration.

"This isn't just about her. Not anymore." The humor had left Pietro's eyes. "You know it," he added softly.

Kurt's forehead had begun to throb, and he had the distinct impression that this quarrel had taken an even darker turn. "Is that what you think this is, Quicksilver? An ideological argument?"

"Fairbanks _is_ our ideological argument. Admit it, why don't you? If it weren't for her, we'd still be in the exact same situation, just without the spark to set it off. Nothing like a little ass as a bonus to get a guy to really work hard for the cause, huh?"

"Fuck you!" Kurt hissed. An indistinct sense of unease had combined with the furry-skinned youth's anger when he saw Pietro wince slightly at his own words, but the anger won out. He felt saliva welling behind his lips and spat angrily on the pavement, wiping his face with his sleeve and wondering absently if he were about to start foaming at the mouth. "She's not a tool for you to use against us, and I von't let you make her into vun!"

"She made _herself into a tool," Pietro grunted, shrugging casually. "None of us join either side of this little disagreement without knowing that we might become a player in something larger than ourselves. If she __did consider leaving your pacifist collective before the fire, I can see why she did. Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have judged her if she'd told you that she hated homo sapiens as much as she ought to? She knew she was leaving your ideals when she came over to our side, and she was __glad. She left because none of you, __none of you, cared enough to—"_

He was inexplicably surprised when Kurt vanished suddenly, leaving behind a few traces of pink smoke, and appeared behind him. The holographically-altered mutant snatched Pietro's arm and twisted it against his back, making the fair-skinned boy howl in pain. "Take it back!" Kurt shouted, uncaring of the fact that other students or even teachers might look out the windows at any moment and come running in Maximoff's defense. His annoyance had grown far larger than the potential for authority figures to dampen it.

"I won't take it back, because you know it's true!" Faster than Kurt could react, Pietro's foot slid behind his ankle and made a smooth sweep, again knocking him off his balance and onto his back. Pietro's abused arm buzzed numbly as he glared down at his nemesis on the pavement.

"_Auf Wedersehen_," he said quietly, giving Kurt a quick salute before he disappeared in a faded streak of speed lines.

Swearing louder than polite company would allow, Kurt lurched to his feet and glared in the direction of Pietro's receding figure, the same direction that Nat had taken in her hasty retreat away from the high school. His eyes barely slits, Kurt perhaps gave the situation less consideration than it deserved, hardly bothering to glance around and check for onlookers, and 'ported in the general direction of the Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House.

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There was something _there._

Jean leaned forward, a crease marring her pretty brow and a few strands of bright red hair falling into her face. Her green eyes were narrowed in concentration, a slight blush staining her cheeks as her jaw tightened and a vein in her temple jumped. She rose slowly to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the mattress that supported her mentor. As she stared down at his flaccid figure under the covers, the professor didn't stir or have any other physical reactions that would make her think he was making any progress. The dents in the pillows looked as if they had always been there, and the water glass on the bedside table was rarely refilled.

But there was definitely _something…_

Beside her, Scott frowned and grabbed her slender forearm, immediately noticing the cold sweat on her face and the determined set of her eyes. Desperation tinged his expression and his voice. "Jean? Jean, what is it? Is he waking up? Can he hear you?"

She raised a hand impatiently, and he reluctantly fell silent, but he could not draw his gaze away from the limp body of the professor and the taught form of the girl that stood beside him. The silence of the room was nearly palpable, the clicking of monitors and the professor's carefully measured breaths not interrupted by a single utterance from his nearly constant visitors.

"He…he's in there…I can feel him trying to reach out…trying to get free of whatever is holding him back…"

Scott, with all his legendary calm and his tendency to overlook almost anything that wasn't presented directly to him, understood the profundity of those words with the clarity of an almost incomprehensible apprehension. He felt himself go cold with the shock of barely hoped-for joy, the grief that hovered over his mind beginning to finally lift. His limbs seemed to weigh a thousand pounds and he was unable to move. A quiet sigh of relief escaped him, and Jean gently took his hand in her smaller one and gave it a tender squeeze. On the other side of the room, Rogue shifted underneath her pale gray hospital blanket and whispered something unintelligible. Jean dashed a hand across her eyes, hoping not to frighten Scott with her tears.

"He's definitely still in there. And he's fighting something _crazy_."

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It only took a few 'ports to reach his intended destination, first to a parking garage of a business he knew to be closed and then to an alley behind a local grocery, where he sent several homeless felines scattering with earsplitting yowls of feral alarm. Knowing it was better not to continue in such a manner onto the open sidewalk outside the Brotherhood's home, and not knowing the specific layout of the building itself, he tore down the side of the street to the house on foot. It would not do anyone any good to be noticed 'porting in the open or to find himself partially lodged through an unfamiliar wall or piece of furniture.

His lungs were blazing and his side cramped up in a sudden stitch as he was arriving on the property, but passion urged him on. There was still a good chance that he, whose method of travel was virtually instantaneous, had arrived before his fleet-footed opponent had done so. With his eyes narrowed into slits, he stepped over the scrubby landscaping at the edge of the property and tried not to think of the strange implications of doing so. He briefly wondered if Nat had felt the same odd sensation when she had first set foot here, and the thought once again made him wonder if she had spent time alone with Pietro, in one of the rooms upstairs. He felt a prickly twinge in his stomach and chest and pushed such thoughts roughly from his mind. He glanced back and forth, looking for some sign of Nat's or Pietro's presence and, finding none, turned to the front steps and began to make his way up them.

He promptly felt himself go cold.

At the top of the broken cobblestone steps, set back on a deep porch and heavily shaded from the noonday sun, the empty whole where the door should have stood gaped blankly, a hole in the head of the house looking oddly black like knocked-out teeth. His breath caught in his throat and his feet were temporarily immobile, rooted on the third stair up from the bottom with his hand hovering weakly over the banister. The sound of his heartbeat knocked about inside his skull.

Recovering after what felt like an eternity, Kurt made his way into the house, moving quickly on wobbling knees and dashing up the carpeted staircase. He scanned the stairs and followed dirty boot tracks that were far too large for Nat to have made and seemed too fresh for the males of the house to have made earlier that morning. The unique and altogether recognizable odor of Nat's smoke lingered in the hallway but was beginning to fade. He tried to ignore the throbbing between his temples and moved toward another empty doorway at the top of the stairs as quickly as his wobbling legs would allow, not trusting his state of mind enough to attempt to 'port.

He took in the scene silently, his vision swimming in what might have been tears. Streaks of smoke stained the walls of the lavishly decorated room and books and manila folders were scattered across the woven carpets, torn and battered by furious hands that he was sure had been hers. He knelt and shuffled through them, lifting one particularly mutilated folder when he noted a familiar name scrawled across the label tab in Mystique's distinctively narrow script. Carefully withdrawing a photograph, he felt his lungs and heart contract when he recognized the dark-haired girl and the frightened cast of her face.

He didn't remember any of it happening. After all, he _was_ the thin blue figure sprawled on the pavement beside her, his head pillowed on her thigh. He could see the shapes of a Ferris wheel and the back of the bumper car stall behind her, and distantly he could make out the regal silhouette of Ororo Monroe and the smaller one of Kitty Pryde. Part of the view was obscured by the fender of a green automobile. The photograph had been snapped by a voyeur, in the parking lot of the amusement park on that fateful afternoon.

He could just imagine whose fingers had taken that picture.

He hands began to shake and he dropped the photo onto the rug, casting his gaze about once more and gagging on rising bile when an unfamiliar chemical invaded his nostrils. A dirty rag, reeking with the scent of the strange stuff, had been thrown aside as soon as its necessity had been worn out. Taking note of a small smear of blood and a knot of dark hair ground into the carpet, he felt his legs beginning to give out, and turned to grab onto the wall for support, his palm resting in the hollow that Natalie's fist had gashed into the plaster not long before. Tears of fear and rage streamed down his cheeks and he jerked to one side to wretch dryly into the base of a potted plant.

"What the hell is goin' on, _Nightcrawler?"_

He didn't turn just yet, not wanting to see the cerulean eyes staring at him accusatively, not wanting to leave the foggy world of his thoughts to throw accusations of his own. Not wanting any of that, not at all wanting that. Not yet. What _did he want?_

"Vat do you think is going on? You're not stupid."

There was a long, almost palpable silence. "Where is she?"

Kurt swung around too quickly, his momentum bringing his nausea back full-force, kept in check only by his desire to look Maximoff straight in the eye. "I vas hoping to ask _you the same thing."_

Pietro ignored him, tucking his hands delicately into his pockets. He cocked his head to one side with an almost tranquil air, peering around his indignant companion to the defaced room behind. "Well, that doesn't look good, does it?"

"You sick fuck!" Kurt cried, reaching for Pietro's slender shoulders just quick enough to catch the other mutant by surprise. Kurt grasped the nape of his enemy's neck in one hand and brought his other fist against Pietro's eye socket, feeling the slickness of blood, his own and Maximoff's together, spread across his knuckles. Pietro groaned loudly and slumped to his knees, cradling his bloodied face in his hands. Kurt stared down at him, his chest heaving, his teeth bared and his eyes bulging, feeling vindicated and somehow vilified.

"If you've done anything to her, I svear to Christ—"

Sputtering, Pietro glared up at Kurt through a massively purpled eye, his hands tensely clenched around his thin knees. He jumped to his feet and wrapped his arms around Kurt's throat, swinging around so he was behind him and had him relatively well restrained. He began slowly, tightly squeezing and jamming his elbow into the small of Kurt's back, jabbing it repeatedly for emphasis rather than allowing constant pressure. Somewhere in the struggle Kurt's holowatch was unfastened and fell to the floor, appearing to be no more than a harmless Seiko. "Do I _look like I know anything? I wasn't even _here_! I was off listening to you bitch when I could have been here doing something! Remember, boy?" With a disgusted groan, he shoved Kurt away to gasp and choke wetly before turning back to face him, unmoving except for the hand that rubbed absently at his lower back._

A vague pang of guilt twisted in Kurt's belly at the sight of Maximoff's battered face, the black eye and the blood that streamed from his lips and nose. The urge to be sick rose in him again and he teetered slightly to the left, trying not to fall and in the process overcompensating and lurching too far to the right. Both stood silently for a moment, staring at one another, the violence subsiding but the tension between them not following its lead.

"_Wer?" Kurt's voice came out strained and hollow._

Pietro shook his head slowly, a ringing beginning in his temples. "I…don't know."

"Do you think…" He broke off with a groan, pressing on his eyes with the base of his palms.

"I hope not."

His yellow eyes fastened on Pietro's blue ones, the determination there making the fairer boy shiver noticeably. "If it is, ve have to do something."

"'We'?" Pietro repeated, mildly amused despite himself.

"You have a responsibility to her. She vas in _your_ home. Und there's no vay I'd let you go find her on your own."

Dabbing gently at his face with his sleeve, Pietro winced as he saw how dark his sleeve became as it soaked up the blood. "You really don't trust me, do you?"

"_Nein." Kurt stared at the assaulted boy, unblinking. "Not at all."_

"Smart man." Pietro smiled.

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She felt cold, tired and terribly small. The smell of chloroform was thick in her nostrils, foggy and warm but not enough to put her under anymore. She could taste dried blood on her lip.

She had stopped screaming hours ago.

They had appeared out of nowhere. A noise behind her, finally, had drawn her attention away from her furious rage of destruction, and she had turned around.

She had expected someone that she could handle, someone that she recognized. Mystique, or Pietro. Even Magneto. She hadn't been ready to defend herself if they had been angry, but she had planned on fighting. Any one of them would have been preferable to what she found, but it had been none of them. Her eyes had gone wide and she'd looked too pretty, too innocent. She absently wished that she had scowled.

It had been intruders, two men in the lead and several more pouring into the room behind them, some wearing dark ski masks and others not bothering. She had been frightened briefly, then angry for a moment, ready to send a warning blast of heat in their direction. She was furious that they had entered the home unannounced and uninvited, before she realized the kind of trouble she was actually in, and began to shake to the bottoms of her feet.

It had seemed to take forever. Why hadn't she _burned_ them? In all that _time_!

It took less than a second after she turned for them to have her pinned to the ground, howling and clawing at their faces, their chests, the metal strap that choked and bit at the soft skin on her throat. Their hands were stronger and their bodies larger than her own, and her powers mysteriously delinquent, she had felt as helpless as a child as they restrained her and the rag pressed over her face drew her farther away from awareness.

"What the hell is it babbling about?"

The burlap was pulled roughly away, taking a large hank of dark hair with it, but she was too lethargic to feel much of anything. Her hands curled into defenseless balls, drawn up to shield her battered eyes and cheeks from another blow, unable to do much as her bindings kept them from getting all the way to her face. She whimpered faintly. Her eyes rolled back in her head and a moan that escaped her uttered an unconscious warning that she was likely to vomit again. She felt wet and sticky with sweat that beaded up on her face and slithered down her back. Her vision swam and the colors meshed and bled together, the meager brightness of the dim garage burning her corneas. A fluorescent light glowed like a strip of orange paint between the two fuzzy figures that stood above her. She had to fight to keep her head from rolling to one side and her eyes from drifting shut.

The fire wouldn't _come_…

Two men stared down on her, the two that had been in the lead back at the house. One, a scrawny red-head in a greasy tee-shirt, smirked down at her, while his barrel-chested companion just scowled noncommittally. Both were wearing thick black leather gloves, and the younger man clenched something small and dark in his fist. A taser. He brandished it menacingly near her lax face, rolling it in a circular motion as if to urge her on.

"What was that again, freak?"

Her world spun and the floor of the van seemed to disappear beneath her back. Her teeth clenched tightly and her tongue suddenly felt too large for her mouth, a fresh trickle of blood and saliva streaming from the corner of her lips. A pathetic moan rumbled from her body and she could distantly hear the sound of her own babbling keen as she lapsed once again into nothingness.

"I swallowed a lemon. _Ogień_. I swallowed a lemon. _Ich bin verrückt nach dir. _Give it a go, _Ogień_. _Ich bin verrückt nach dir._ I swallowed a lemon…"


End file.
